Harry Potter and the Vault of Mystery
by JBean210
Summary: AU Year 7: The Trio plan to skip their last year at Hogwarts and find Horcruxes, but everything changes when Voldemort is killed, apparently by--Neville! And who is this new exchange student, Jonathan Crown? What's his connection with Voldemort, if any?
1. The Fallen

Chapter One

**The Fallen**

Severus Snape paced back and forth across the dilapidated living room of a run-down hovel on Spinner's End, brooding over the events of the last few weeks, and on his sudden change of fortune.

A scant ten months ago he had returned to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, finally victorious in his quest to gain the position of Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts. For eighteen years he had tried to persuade Albus Dumbledore, the former Headmaster of the school, to give him that job, and for eighteen years Dumbledore had refused him. However, after the fiasco with Dolores Umbridge, from the Ministry of Magic, he had finally been given his heart's desire.

It had been a remarkable, if sometimes frustrating year, Snape remembered, his black eyes straying momentarily to a trinket on the table next to him, a small statue of a black dog. The year had passed with few problems despite some of the … requests … Dumbledore had made of him. He had kept good order in his classes, even with the Potter boy and his insufferable friends, that Miss Know-it-All Granger and the cloying Weasley boy, constantly stirring up trouble. Even, he also remembered, despite the mission Draco Malfoy had been given by the Dark Lord, to kill Albus Dumbledore. A mission, Snape knew, that had served more to strike terror in the hearts of Malfoy's parents than it did of actually succeeding — Snape knew Dumbledore would never have given Draco the least opportunity to succeed; nor would he have harmed Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy's only child. They, however, would never believe that.

And, as it happened, Snape reflected, staring out the window at the grimy, deserted street that ran in front of the house he was in, Malfoy's mission had afforded him the opportunity to further solidify his reputation with the Dark Lord. He had managed to stay in his good graces despite Bellatrix Lestrange's attempts to discredit him by agreeing to perform the Unbreakable Vow with Narcissa Malfoy, an agreement which had silenced, for some time now, her doubts about his loyalty.

Then, just a week ago, as the school year drew to a close, his careful planning, his intricately woven goals, everything he'd worked for over the previous decades had come to an abrupt end: the Malfoy boy finally found a way to smuggle Death Eaters into Hogwarts, mounting a surprise attack that was designed (albeit poorly, in Snape's opinion) to force Dumbledore to react without adequate preparation and thus allow Draco to gain the upper hand, and kill him. But Draco had failed, miserably, to follow through on his advantage, and Snape was required, through the Unbreakable Vow he had made with his mother, to kill Dumbledore himself and escape from Hogwarts with Malfoy and several other Death Eaters in tow. Then, after dropping the Malfoy boy off with his mother at Malfoy Mansion, he had cautiously and, he hoped, imperceptibly, made his way — _here_.

Snape looked about the room distastefully.This hovel he now prowled about in was hardly habitable: unlighted, without running water, and smelling of dust and decay, it had been years since anyone had occupied it. From the signs he had seen, it was infested with mice, ants, cockroaches and probably other similarly disgusting vermin. Snape, however, had no intention of making himself more comfortable. In fact, working any magic at all now would be ill-advised, he knew. The Ministry of Magic would be hoping for him to make such a mistake.

He glanced again at the dog statue, then looked around the living room, frowning. This house was not even his, but an abandoned Muggle residence a few doors away. After his escape from the school, the Dark Lord had ordered him to return to his home and await further orders. However, the Ministry of Magic, knowing where he lived, had sent Aurors to find him and had taken to monitoring both the house and the general area of Spinner's End for his presence and for magical activity. Perhaps Voldemort was testing him, or perhaps he simply did not care that the Ministry would want to clap Snape into Azkaban for the murder of Albus Dumbledore. Either way, he had not long ago received word that a visitor would shortly arrive to bring him into the Dark Lord's presence. That visitor would be Peter Pettigrew, also known as Wormtail.

Snape's lip curled in disgust. Wormtail, the least intelligent and resourceful member of the Marauders, a juvenile gang started by James Potter, Sirius Black and the werewolf Remus Lupin, had been thought dead for many years now, the supposed victim of a wizard's duel between him and Black on a croweded street that had killed twelve Muggles and left behind only his right index finger. As it had turned out, however, Pettigrew had faked his death to avoid being killed by Black, who knew that he had betrayed James and Lily to Voldemort, framing Black for his death in the process.

Then, disguised in his Animagus rat-form, Pettigrew somehow became a pet in the Weasley household, until Lupin and Black discovered he was still alive, the year after Black escaped from Azkaban. Wormtail managed to bring himself back in favor by finding and helping the Dark Lord return, fully restored, from the bare existence he endured after his Killing Curse had rebounded onto him from the Potter boy.

A sudden red light at the corner of his vision brought Snape's attention back to the present. The dog statue had begun to glow, and he sprang to the window, peering through tattered curtains toward his own house at the end of the street. Outside the door was a small, round man, glancing nervously around as he knocked softly at the door. _If the fool's Apparated in_, Snape thought, _we'll have to move quickly –_ _time will be of the essence_.

_Crack._

Wormtail jerked, startled, as Snape appeared beside him. Then he recognized Snape's greasy hair and sallow appearance. "Oh, it's you," Wormtail exhaled gustily, relieved. "I'm here to collect you —"

"I know what you're here for, idiot," Snape said coldly, waving his wand at the door. It flew open; Snape grasped Wormtail's shoulder and pushed him roughly inside. Stepping quickly inside behind him, Snape closed the door and tapped it with his wand; it locked and sealed itself with a loud squelching sound. Snape rounded on the smaller man, who stepped back warily. "How are we traveling to the Dark Lord? Quickly, you dolt!"

Wormtail's right hand, which appeared to be covered in a gleaming silver glove, but which Snape knew was really a replacement hand given to him by the Dark Lord, went into his robe and reappeared a moment later holding a small porcelain cup, which he held out to Snape. "A Portkey," he added, unnecessarily. "It will take us to the Dark Lord's sanctuary."

"Were you followed?" Snape asked curtly.

"Followed?" Wormtail echoed. "Who would follow me here?"

"Aurors, dolt!" Snape snapped. "From the Ministry!" His eyes sought out a small ebony raven, placed on a table that was clearly visible from where Snape normally sat while reading. The statue was not glowing, however, and Snape repressed a sigh of relief. He turned to Wormtail and said ominously, "If I lose everything I own because they've traced you here –"

Wormtail's reply, surprisingly, was almost sneering. "You may have brought that upon yourself by killing Dumbledore, Snape. Is _any_ sacrifice in the service of the Dark Lord too great?"

Snape ignored the question and instead said curtly. "We should leave immediately, then. I dislike the thought of keeping the Dark Lord waiting, and the Aurors will likely be here any moment."

With a mocking smile he did not manage to hide very well, Wormtail held out the Portkey and he and Snape each took hold of it. Wormtail counted to three and they each felt the familiar sensation of a hook behind their navel as Snape's house and Spinner's End dissolved into a blur of color and sound. On the table in the living room, the ebony raven statue began to glow.

Moments later they landed: Wormtail off-balance and staggering, Snape easily, almost casually. Looking around, Snape saw the room they had arrived in was the foyer of a Muggle flat; he knew this since there were small rectangles on the wall which were used for the delivery of electricity, something no Wizarding home would need. The room itself was dimly lit, with only a few flickering candles set on the walls for illumination. The walls themselves had been coated in a dark substance that resembled stone; it felt more like they were in a dungeon than a house.

"Wormtail," a high, cold voice said. "Show our guest in. We have much to discuss with him." Wormtail stepped out of the doorway and bowed Snape into the next room, a larger sitting area that looked much the same as the foyer but with more furniture and lighting. Candles hung from the ceiling and there were numerous stands, all lighted; all the curtains were tightly drawn, so that barely any sunlight penetrated around their edges. The Dark Lord, draped in his familiar black robe and his face expressionless, waited for Snape in the middle of the room. Upon one of the sofas sat Bellatrix Lestrange, looking at him coolly with an unpleasant smirk on her once-lovely, now drawn and hard-edged, face.

"Master." Snape inclined his head as he entered the room, keeping a respectful distance until he was allowed closer.

"Well, you've made a right mess of things, haven't you, Snape?" Bellatrix sneered, as the Dark Lord regarded him silently. Snape made no reply, maintaining his deferential posture while waiting for the Dark Lord to speak.

"Do you have anything to say about that, Severus?" Voldemort finally asked, quietly.

Ignoring Bellatrix's taunt, Snape straightened and said smoothly, "Yes, Master, I have been thinking much about the last few days at Hogwarts. The situation, while not ideal, can be recovered."

Bellatrix snorted, but Voldemort held up a hand and she fell silent immediately. "Indeed, I hope so, for your sake, Severus. It would be most deplorable if my plans are delayed even longer by mistakes made by you and the Malfoy boy."

Snape inclined his head further. "I beg your forgiveness, Master. It has always been my intention to make your return to power as quick as possible. That is why I made the Unbreakable Vow with Malfoy's mother."

"Ah, you anticipated my first question, I see." Voldemort turned and paced a short distance, then turned back at him, his red eyes narrow and penetrating. "Will you be as successful at guessing my next question?"

"It should be obvious, my Lord," Bellatrix added, picking up a goblet from the table in front of her and sipping at the elf-wine in it. "Especially to a Hogwarts professor."

Snape, sparing her a disdainful glance, turned to the Dark Lord. "If you refer, Master, to how I intend to explain why I murdered Albus Dumbledore," he said smoothly, pulling a sealed letter from inside his robe. "This is a letter, with his signature, to the Wizengamot, explaining his decision to risk his own safety in allowing me to make an Unbreakable Vow with Narcissa Malfoy, whom he anticipated would come to me once she learned of your orders for Malfoy to kill him." Snape returned the letter to the pocket within his robe. "I did not, however, expect to have need of it."

"And why would that be?" Bellatrix asked.

"Only the Malfoy boy, Thorfinn Rowle, the Carrows, the werewolf Greyback and myself were present on the Astronomy tower roof with the headmaster. According to Malfoy, when he arrived on the roof, Dumbledore was hesitant, as if confused. Malfoy was able to disarm him but had not killed him by the time I arrived, after being informed of the presence of Death Eaters in Hogwarts by Professor Flitwick. I stunned Flitwick so he would be of no further use to the defenders and proceeded to the Astronomy tower. After eliminating Dumbledore we began our retreat out of the castle. Members of the Order of the Phoenix had arrived and the deed was done. I did not expect that anyone would know which of us killed him," Snape finished.

"How did they find out it was you, Severus?" Voldemort inquired.

"I believe they were told it was me by Harry Potter." Behind Snape, Wormtail started, and Bellatrix chuckled under her breath.

"Harry Potter?" Voldemort echoed, his lipless mouth forming a thin, grim smile. "How would he have come to know this, Severus, since you've told us you were alone on the tower roof with Dumbledore, Malfoy, my Death Eaters and the werewolf?"

"The _Daily Prophet_ reported that there were two brooms found on the tower that night, yet Dumbledore was alone when Malfoy confronted him. I believe Potter arrived on broom as we were leaving the tower, froze Thorfinn Rowle, and came after us. It's possible he witnessed Dumbledore's death but I believe he simply decided it was me, due to his need to blame me rather than himself and his father for all of his flaws."

"Rubbish," Bellatrix said flatly. Snape looked at her coldly but Voldemort merely smiled.

"Come, Bellatrix! You don't believe Severus is telling us the truth?" Voldemort pointed his wand at Snape, who made no motion other than to gaze at it mildly. "He knows very well the price of lying to me, do you not, Severus?"

"Yes, Master." Snape inclined his head yet again.

"He knows the price," Bellatrix agreed. "But would that keep him from making the attempt?"

"If you know of any such attempts, Bellatrix," Snape countered, "Then by all means bring forth your arguments. Otherwise, you are merely being envious of my duties to the Dark Lord. I assure you, you have no reason to be."

Bellatrix laughed mockingly but said nothing else.

"And now, my dear Bella, Severus and I have some matters to discuss in private, so if you would gather up Wormtail, I will join you later in the parlor." Voldemort gestured toward the door.

Bella's countenance fell. "My Lord, surely you do not need to keep secrets from _me_, your most faithful servant?"

"We all have our duties, Bellatrix," Snape sneered. "You should be thankful you do not have _mine_ – I suspect that long periods of close proximity to school age children, rather than enjoying the company of our Dark Lord, would not sit well with you."

Bellatrix opened her mouth to retort but Voldemort cut her off. "Do not make me ask again, Bellatrix. Go."

Bellatrix slowly rose and walked to the door, glaring resentfully at Snape as she passed him, then turned and walked down the long hallway which was the other exit from the foyer, a "Come, Wormtail," tossed over her shoulder as she disappeared. Wormtail, glancing after her nervously, bowed obsequiously to Voldemort and followed after her.

"Now, to business." Voldemort gestured at the door with his wand, which immediately flew shut. Another wave and the walls themselves glowed momentarily with yellowish light. Returning his wand to his robe, Voldemort seated himself in a comfortable high-backed chair and gestured for Snape to do the same. "Now, Severus, you may be completely candid with me. I am unconvinced that the letter you hold will sway either the Ministry of Magic, or the Wizengamot, in your favor. Your actions have clearly marked you as a murderer in their eyes." As Snape was about to speak, Voldemort held up a hand for him to remain silent. "Yes, I know that only a few years ago, shortly after I returned, the Ministry itself was vilifying Dumbledore. If Harry Potter had not escaped me, there would have been no evidence that I was back, beyond his disappearance, and my plans would not have been delayed searching for the key to his destruction, which has in turn set us back even farther after many of my Death Eaters were captured and placed in Azkaban.

"But now," Voldemort continued, "That fool Dumbledore has at last been destroyed, leaving me free to pursue my plans." He leaned back and regarded Snape intently. Snape, keeping his head lowered deferentially, nevertheless could not help looking into the Dark Lord's red eyes, now nearly glowing with determination. "There is a rumor, Severus that Hogwarts will not reopen in the fall. Do you think that rumor true?"

Snape was silent for some time, considering. Finally he said slowly, "McGonagall will want to open the school again, if possible and if the safety of the students can be reasonably guaranteed. Most of the other teachers will agree or follow her lead. But the actual decision will be made by the governors of the school; McGonagall does not have the strength of will that Albus Dumbledore had."

"You almost sound as if you admired him, Severus," Voldemort said, not quite making it a sneer.

"It is not admiration to acknowledge the abilities of one's opponents," Snape replied with a small shrug. "Any more than it is weakness to be cautious when dealing those of greater abilities than one's own."

Voldemort gave a mirthless laugh. "Are you speaking of me or him, Severus?"

"Of both of you," Snape replied.

This time Voldemort's laugh was genuine. "Well said, indeed!" He stood suddenly and paced the room for a few moments before turning again to Snape. "Do you believe it will be better for the school to remain open, or to close?"

"Hogwarts has not closed, to anyone's knowledge, since it was founded nearly a thousand years ago," Snape said, almost as if giving a lesson on the subject. "Its prestige lies in that fact, and is a measure of its dedication to education. If the school were to close, even for a short time, I believe much of its reputation throughout Britain, Europe, and the world would be undermined."

"Then we must give the governors a good reason to keep the school open," Voldemort decided. "If it does, what do you reckon will be the odds you will be accepted again there as a teacher?"

"I am confident that I can convince McGonagall and the directors of my innocence and the reasons for my actions, Master," Snape said smoothly.

Voldemort nodded, but a moment later Snape was writhing on the floor under the Cruciatus Curse. The Dark Lord had drawn his wand so quickly that there had been no time to steel himself against the blinding, white-hot pain that engulfed him. After what seemed like hours, but was only a few moments, Voldemort lowered his wand and Snape lay gasping for breath. "You may spar with Bellatrix and Wormtail, Snape, but not with me. I ask once more, and will not ask again, what are the odds you will be accepted again at Hogwarts as a teacher?"

Snape's labored breathing slowed; he pulled himself painfully to his feet. "I-I apologize, Master, for not answering before. I believe my odds are about even that I will be reinstated as a teacher once Dumbledore's letter is received by the Wizengamot."

"Will McGonagall accept you if you are cleared by the Wizengamot?" Voldemort asked.

Snape's expression still bore the pain of the Cruciatus Curse. "She is an independent thinker, to a degree, but she has always followed Dumbledore's lead. If I appeal to her thinking on that basis, I believe she will put aside her feelings about my role in his death."

Voldemort regarded Snape silently for a minute. Snape, just as silently, waited for his decision. "Very well," the Dark Lord finally said. "You may make your appeal to the Wizengamot."

"My lord, you spoke of a reason for the governors of Hogwarts to keep the school open…?" Snape ventured to ask.

"I will have Wormtail contact you about putting that plan into operation," Voldemort said dismissively. "For now, concentrate on convincing the Wizengamot, and the governors, that you were but a pawn in the duel between Dumbledore and myself. You may go." With a wave of his wand Voldemort unlocked the door and turned away.

Bowing shakily, Snape backed to the door, then opened and passed through, pulling it shut behind him.

--

Bored and impatient, Harry Potter paced his small, already cluttered bedroom at number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, trying to decide what to do next. It had been only days since he had returned from school and he had spent that entire time thinking what he would do the moment he left the Dursleys' home forever.

The Dursleys, his Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, along with their son Dudley, had never wanted him here in their home in the first place, Harry knew. They had taken him in only because Professor Albus Dumbledore had persuaded his aunt to keep him so the blood protection his mother, Petunia's sister Lily, had given him by her death at Voldemort's hands. As long as Harry returned to number four, Privet Drive, at least once per year, he was safe here from Voldemort.

In little more than a month, however, he would turn 17 and would be of age, considered an adult in the Wizarding world, and that protection would cease. After that, there would be no point in staying unless Harry wanted to bring Death Eaters, or Voldemort himself, down on the Dursleys. As tempting as that idea was, a retaliation of the 16 years of misery they had put him through, Harry knew he would rather clear out than risk harm coming, even to his aunt and uncle.

On his desk was the day's edition of the _Daily Prophet_, the Wizarding newspaper. Harry snatched up the paper and once again read the lead story:

**Will Hogwarts Remain Open?**

**T**he fate of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry still remains undecided, Ministry officials declared late yesterday amid additional rumors about the whereabouts of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his followers.

"We're having talks now with the school's board of governors," Minister of Magic Rufus Scrimgeour revealed. "We believe the Ministry can provide the same level of protection that has been available to students during the previous administration at the school."

Minerva McGonagall, new Headmistress of the school, added, "The staff at Hogwarts also believes that it can provide more than adequate protection for students, and that parents have nothing to fear by sending their children to our school. Our previous Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, believed highly in having the utmost protection for those in his charge, and I share in that belief."

This statement comes on the heels of recent events at the school where it has been reported that a number of Death Eaters gained entry to the school and a number of injuries resulted, notably the death of Albus Dumbledore himself, apparently sustained in a fall from the school's Astronomy Tower. The circumstances involving his death have not been revealed, either by school officials or the Ministry of Magic.

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, born in 1881, had been Headmaster of Hogwarts for more than 40 years, succeeding Armando Dippet after the 1954-55 school year.

_(continued, page 3, column 1) _

Harry dropped the paper back on his desk, then sat down, bored with pacing. His mind kept wandering back to Dumbledore's death at the hands of Severus Snape, the one person in the whole world he loathed as much as Voldemort. It was incomprehensible to Harry that Dumbledore should have so completely trusted him, considering what Snape finally did. He was Voldemort's man, and he had fooled even Dumbledore.

He picked up a piece of parchment from his desk that had also arrived this morning, this one from his friend Hermione Granger, and read again,

_Dear Harry,_

_I hope you are doing okay at your aunt and uncle's house. After I spent the weekend with my parents I convinced them that I had to go stay at the Burrow to help with Bill and Fleur's wedding this coming Saturday. They agreed and I arrived here today._

_It's going to be quite an affair – Mr. and Mrs. Weasley have fixed up the garden very nicely for the ceremony and Fleur and Gabrielle are both here, preparing for the wedding. If you'll recall, Gabrielle, Ginny and I are going to be bridesmaids._

_Ron has permission to fetch you for the ceremony, he and I will come round on Wednesday to collect you and bring you back to the Burrow. Ron is going to be one of Bill's groomsmen. I suspect Bill may want you to be one as well, but I can't speak for him, of course. Look for us to come round about 11 a.m. in the morning, if I can get Ron out of bed by then._

_Mrs. Weasley also asked me to tell you that you're welcome to stay afterwards at the Burrow for as long as you want. In fact, she encourages you to remain at least until you turn seventeen, since, being an underage wizard, it might be difficult for you to obtain a place to live._

_As for any of the other things we've discussed, Ron and I will talk to you about them when we see you again. _

_Looking forward to seeing you again,_

_Affectionately,_

_Hermione_

Harry replaced this letter on his desk, smiling a bit at last. It meant that come tomorrow he would be saying his goodbyes to the Dursleys for the last time. No more would he have to put up with the ugly looks, the meager dinners, his uncle's temper, his aunt's obsession with cleanliness or his cousin's bullying. Even though something in the back of his head told him he should be a bit sad to go, as he was leaving family behind, another part reminded him that he had only known neglect and cruelty here.

The door to his room creaked open and his cousin Dudley's head popped in. "Mum says dinner's ready," he said dully, eyeing Harry with equal measures of caution and resentment. Dudley had turned 17 the day before, although with much less pomp and celebration than in previous years. He had received quite a few presents at dinner time yesterday evening – at least one for each year of age, from his doting mother and proudly beaming father. Or so Harry had heard, in a roundabout way, since he had not been asked to attend. Not that he minded, of course. The less contact he had with the Dursleys, Harry thought, the better.

His aunt had taken, inexplicably in Harry's opinion, to bringing him a plate in the evenings if he didn't come down for dinner; Harry had not yet been inclined to join the Dursleys at dinner. For some reason, that was not going to happen tonight, if Dudley had been sent to collect him for dinner. Harry suspected that Vernon wanted to find out what he'd been up to here in his room for the past few days. "I'll be down in a sec," Harry said tonelessly.

"Get a move on, then – I'm starving," Dudley snarled and disappeared, closing the door. Harry managed a smirk; he could believe with absolutely no difficulty that his cousin was hungry. Dudley was vast, nearly as wide as he was tall, and while he'd managed to worm his way out of the diet needed to keep him small enough to fit in the uniform of Smeltings, the school he attended, the Dursleys no longer continuously plied him with sweets and pastries. Consequently, Dudley was usually in a foul mood when he was hungry, and he was hungry most of the time. Worse, Harry thought, Dudley had taken up boxing some years ago and had become the Junior Inter-School Boxing Champion of the South East, which had done nothing to improve his humility but had tended to sharpen his appetite. Also, if anything, it had made him even more of a delinquent and a bully than he'd already been before, vandalizing the neighborhood with his gang and terrorizing younger children.

Harry sighed and trudged downstairs to the kitchen where his uncle Vernon, eyeing him as he might a stray dog that had wandered into his home, said brusquely, "Haven't you got anything better to do than mope about your room eating our food, boy?"

Harry shot his uncle a dirty look. Vernon Dursley, a large, beefy man, with very little neck and even less sympathy for Harry, had never been happy with having his nephew in his home. "And you can keep that look to yourself, thank you very much!" Vernon added, pointing his dinner knife at Harry, then gesturing at the fourth chair. "Hurry up, then, Dudders has been ready to eat for ten minutes."

Harry sat down opposite Dudley, looking resentfully back and forth between his aunt and uncle at either end of the table. His aunt Petunia wore an expression that was somewhere between annoyance and distaste as they began passing around food. As usual, Harry was last to be handed the food and had to scrape the bowls clean for his portion, while Dudley's plate was nearly overflowing.

The meal passed in silence, with only the telly going for Dudley to watch one of his programs as he ate. Harry kept his eyes on his plate, with the uncomfortable feeling that both his aunt and uncle were staring at him as he ate. Dudley, of course, had eyes only for the telly or his plate, switching back and forth in rapid succession as he shoveled food into his mouth and watched a cartoon show while chewing.

Finally, his portions gone, Harry pushed away from the table and began to get up and take his plate to the sink for cleaning and stacking in the dishwasher, but Vernon held out a hand to stop him.

"Wait a minute, boy. I want to know some things before you go."

Harry looked at his uncle, surprised. Usually Vernon Dursley couldn't wait for Harry to be out of his presence. "What?" Harry asked.

Vernon fixed him with a beady-eyed stare. "This is your last summer home from that – that school you attend, isn't it?"

"Yes," Harry said. He had no intention of mentioning that he wouldn't be going back there.

"And when you leave here next time, you won't be coming back?"

"Sorry to see me go?" Harry asked sardonically. "No, I won't be coming back after I leave."

Dudley stopped watching his program and began paying attention to the conversation between Harry and his father.

"So," Vernon continued. "Will you be going to live at that house your godfather left you last year?"

Harry shook his head. "No."

"Why not?" Vernon demanded.

"Because I'm letting someone else live there," Harry snapped back.

"What in ruddy hell for?" Vernon asked, sounding outraged. The idea of letting someone else use his property for free would never, ever enter Vernon Dursley's mind.

"My business," Harry said shortly. "Besides, I don't want to live there anyway." He didn't mention that living there would remind him every day of Sirius and that he could hardly bear the idea even now, much less actually trying to stay there, with his godfather dead.

"But you're going to be leaving soon?" Vernon pressed him.

"Yeah," Harry replied, weary of the questioning. "Tomorrow, in fact." All three Dursleys looked at him: Vernon had put on a leering smile, apparently heartened by the news of Harry's imminent departure; his aunt Petunia, on the other hand, was frowning at him, whether in disapproval or concern Harry could not tell. His cousin Dudley's expression, on the other hand, was completely blank – he just stared at Harry dully, his mouth absently chewing the last bits of his dinner. "My friends Hermione and Ron will come by tomorrow about eleven to help me move out."

"Tomorrow, eh?" Vernon repeated with a calculating look on his face, his fingers drumming the table unconsciously. "Where will you go, then?"

"To Ron's parents' house, they've invited me there for a while," Harry told him. Vernon snorted.

"Are you sure it's all right for you to leave?" Petunia spoke for the first time since Harry had come downstairs. Harry, Vernon and Dudley all looked at her in surprise. It was not a question Harry would ever have expected to hear from his aunt, who mostly only concerned herself with compulsively cleaning the house, spying on her neighbors and keeping Harry as much out of sight as possible.

"Of _course_ it's alright for him to leave!" Vernon sputtered. "He's ruddy well old enough, isn't he? Don't _they_ consider him an adult when he's 17? You _are_ 17, aren't you, boy?"

"In a month," Harry muttered. His uncle could remember that he'd been given a house from a single conversation a year ago, but couldn't remember how old Harry was, even after living with him for 16 years.

"But Dumbledore," Petunia said hesitantly, fearing that mention of the name would upset Vernon. And it had – Harry's uncle had gone red in the face and the vein in his forehead was beginning to pulse. "Won't he want you here until you turn 17?"

"That old codger has got no say in how this house is run!" Vernon bellowed, "Coming in here, practically kidnapping us, trying to force us to drink God-knows-what kind of –" his next word seemed to come at great effort – "_magical_ drink, especially after that ruddy candy that Dudders was tricked into eating a few years ago that nearly killed him. I won't have it in my house, Petunia, do you hear?"

As incorrect as his uncle's rant about Dumbledore had been, Harry only said quietly, "You won't see Professor Dumbledore again, anyway. He's dead."

Both his aunt and uncle turned quickly to look at Harry. "_Dead_?" Petunia gasped, covering her mouth.

"Dead?" Vernon echoed brusquely. Dudley looked back and forth between his mother and father, then nicked the last bit of dessert and popped it into his mouth. "How did he die?" Vernon demanded.

"It doesn't matter," Harry said wearily. "What matters is, I have to be gone before I turn 17, so nothing will come round looking for me."

"Like who?" Vernon asked. "Like your ruddy friends, that red-haired man or his infernal brats?"

"No," said Harry, turning to look at Dudley. "Like dementors."

Dudley gasped and spit out half-chewed dessert onto his plate. His father and mother turned to him and Petunia blurted out, "Duddykins, what's wrong? Are you all right?"

Dudley was staring at Harry, wide-eyed with horror, remembering his encounter with the dementors two summers ago. Petunia tried to get him to drink some water, but he pushed it away. "Y-you're leaving tomorrow, then?" he stuttered, looking directly at Harry.

"That's the plan, Duddykins," Harry said coolly.

"Don't get cheeky," Vernon ordered. "Right, then! It's settled – you're leaving tomorrow. Forever." His uncle pushed back from the table and stood. "Help your aunt with the dishes," he commanded, then walked into the living room. Dudley lurched to his feet and followed his father, leaving Harry and his aunt alone in the kitchen.

Harry helped Petunia clear the table in silence and began putting on an apron to start rinsing down the dishes when she waved him away. "I want to make sure the dishes are cleaned properly," she said dismissively, although Harry thought she was being rather less nasty than usual. He shrugged and returned to his room.

Laying on his bed a while later, Harry reread Hermione's letter. It would feel strange tomorrow, he knew, walking out of this house forever. And it would _be_ forever, he knew; he could not imagine any of the Dursleys ever wanting to see him again, even though his aunt had reacted strangely to the idea of him leaving their home, and to the news of Dumbledore's death. It was puzzling.

Still, Harry knew, what Petunia or his uncle or cousin were thinking weren't important compared to what Harry would be dealing with before long. After Bill and Fleur's wedding, he would be trying to figure out where Voldemort had hidden his Horcruxes, the enchanted items that contained fragments of his soul, as well as where Voldemort himself was.

Somehow, without Dumbledore's help, Harry would have to find a way to defeat Voldemort. And kill him. The prophecy that Dumbledore had told him about at the end of his fifth year, the one uttered by Professor Trelawney 18 years ago, foretold that either he or Voldemort must kill the other, for "_neither can live while the other survives."_

The previous year, Harry and Dumbledore had explored various memories using Dumbledore's Pensieve, a magical device that could hold memories taken from people's minds, which Harry had first seen the year of the Triwizard Tournament in Dumbledore's office. The memories Harry and Dumbledore examined in Harry's sixth year concerned the childhood of Tom Marvolo Riddle, whom the Wizarding world knew today as Lord Voldemort. Harry saw Riddle's mother Merope, his grandfather Marvolo Gaunt and Gaunt's son Morfin, whom Riddle eventually framed for the murder of Tom Riddle, Sr. and his parents. He saw Dumbledore's first meeting with Riddle in the Muggle orphanage where Tom spent his first eleven years, and Tom's return to Hogwarts ten years after his graduation when he attempted to secure the Defense Against the Dark Arts position from Dumbledore, who refused him the job. He saw Riddle meet with Hepzibah Smith, saw her proudly show him the Hufflepuff Cup and Slytherin's locket, Hogwarts artifacts that Riddle would later steal and frame Smith's house-elf Hokey for the crime of her murder. Finally, Harry had procured, and seen, the memory of a meeting between Riddle and Horace Slughorn where Slughorn, the Hogwarts Potions professor at the time Riddle attended school, described a Horcrux to the future Dark Lord, who then went on to create, not one, but _six_ Horcruxes, each one made by the murder of a wizard or Muggle.

Two of those Horcruxes were now destroyed: the diary of Tom Riddle, a diary that had possessed Ginny Weasley and forced her to release the basilisk that lived in the Chamber of Secrets far below Hogwarts castle, and Marvolo Gaunt's ring, which had somehow cost Dumbledore the use of his right hand; it had remained blackened and shriveled throughout Harry's sixth year.

Just before Dumbledore had died, he and Harry had traveled to a cave where Dumbledore believed one of Voldemort's Horcruxes was hidden. He and Harry, with great difficulty, had recovered a locket hidden at the center of an underground lake on small island in a bowl of gleaming green liquid that Dumbledore had drunk, at much cost, to reveal the locket, only to learn later that it was not a Horcrux but a fake, with a message from someone with the initials "R.A.B." who claimed responsibility for removing it. It was the liquid which seriously weakened Dumbledore and prevented him from stopping Draco Malfoy from disarming him on the Astronomy Tower after he and Harry had arrived, having seen the Dark Mark set above Hogwarts after returning from finding the fake Horcrux.

Harry, who had been wearing his Invisibility Cloak, had been inexplicably immobilized by Dumbledore as Malfoy burst through the door of the Astronomy Tower. He witnessed Malfoy's failure to kill Dumbledore even though ordered to do so by Voldemort, who threatened to kill his family if Draco failed, witnessed the arrival of other Death Eaters, including the werewolf Fenrir Greyback, who had mauled Bill Weasley earlier that night, and witnessed, finally, the arrival of Severus Snape who, in spite of pleas for help from Dumbledore, attacked and murdered him with the Killing Curse, the _Avada Kedavra_. His paralysis lifting as the Death Eaters left the tower, Harry pursued Snape but was unable to stop him or Malfoy from escaping.

And now, with his mentor dead, Harry faced the monumental task of seeing Voldemort dead and his Horcruxes destroyed. He had no idea who, beyond Ron and Hermione, could help him see the task through. Rufus Scrimgeour, the Minister of Magic, wanted nothing more than his fawning complicity in all Ministry matters. The Order of the Phoenix: Remus Lupin, Alastor Moody, Tonks, Professor McGonagall, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Bill and Charlie Weasley, and others, were engaged in a war to stop Voldemort, but their ranks had been reduced in the last year due to murders by Voldemort and his Death Eaters; they would be hard-pressed to lend him much support. Most of the members of Dumbledore's Army, the group formed in his fifth year to learn Defense Against the Dark Arts in spite of efforts by Dolores Umbridge to teach them nothing but "book theory," were in their last year at Hogwarts or had been taken out of school by fearful parents.

_Well, you knew the job would be dangerous when you took it_, a small voice in the back of his head said, and Harry managed a smile, knowing that he _had_ taken the job and that he would see it through until the end, come what may. Harry closed his eyes, wondering how long it would take to complete and soon he was snoring softly.


	2. Dudley's Fond Farewell

Chapter Two

**Dudley's Fond Farewell**

Harry woke the next morning lying on his bed fully-clothed. He glanced at his alarm clock: he had slept well-past ten o'clock, even though no one had come up to wake him.

Padding into the bathroom, he splashed water on his face and arms, hoping to clean off and wake up more at the same time. Drying off, Harry stood still for a moment, listening for Dudley's snoring. Usually his cousin could be heard quite clearly; today, however, there was no sound coming from his bedroom. Harry crept down the stairs and into the kitchen.

Unexpectedly, his uncle was sitting at the kitchen table, reading the morning paper and nibbling on a piece of toast. Dudley was at the table as well, just starting on a plateful of eggs and sausage put in front of him by his mother. As he walked in Vernon looked up, fixing him with a deprecating squint of his beady eyes.

"Have a bit of a lie-in this morning, did we?" he sneered. "Thought you'd be up early getting ready for the big day."

"I would've been up earlier," Harry said. "My alarm didn't go off." He gave his uncle an appraising look. "So what are you home for, today? Sacked?"

Vernon snorted. "Don't be cheeky, boy. No, this is a _special_ day, your last day here, and I took holiday so I could be here to see you off."

"Meaning, you don't trust me," Harry said flatly.

"Not one bit," Vernon smiled nastily. Harry shrugged and began to walk to the stove to get something to eat, but his aunt Petunia waved him away.

"Sit down," she ordered, pointing at his empty chair. "I'll get your breakfast." When Vernon glanced at her quizzically, she added, "We can't have him overeating today, of all days." Harry looked at her for a moment, then sat down to wait, watching Dudley shovel forkful after forkful of eggs, sausage and toast into his mouth.

"Save some room for later," he suggested to his cousin.

Dudley looked up dully at him for a moment, then decided he was being baited. "I'm in training, I need to keep my fighting weight up," he mumbled around a mouthful of food.

"No problem there," Harry said under his breath.

"Yes, indeed," Vernon was saying, almost jovially, as Petunia put a plate of eggs, sausage and toast in front of Harry. It was rather more food than he'd expected, and he dug in gustily as his uncle continued speaking. "Finally! No more ruddy owls flying in and out at all hours of the day and night. No more flying cars trying to tear the house apart. No more floating puddings or blowing up my sister or anyone's tongue — " Dudley put a hand over his mouth at this "— and no more _freaks_ coming out of the fireplace!" Vernon suddenly glared at Harry. "They _aren't_ going to come out of the fireplace, are they? Your little friends who're coming to pick you up, eh?"

"Er –" Harry realized he didn't know how Ron and Hermione were coming. "I rather doubt it," he said finally. "They'd remember what a disaster that was, last time."

"Damn _right_ it was a disaster!" Vernon growled, beginning to get red in the face. "Ruddy dolt nearly wrecked the entire living room!"

"Mr. Weasley is _not_ a dolt!" Harry said, annoyed at his uncle's rudeness. "That's the way they travel normally!"

"That's not the way _we_ do it!" Vernon snapped at him. "Coming into my house, I expect some consideration about how it's done!"

Just then the doorbell rang. Glancing at the wall clock, Harry saw it was just eleven; with any luck, Ron and Hermione were at the door. He stood up, watching Vernon warily: the vein in his uncle's forehead was beginning to stand out again. Vernon, however, took a deep breath and said in a strangely calm voice, "Why don't you go and let your little friends in, if that's them, get your things and be on your way, then?"

"Right," Harry said, stalking out of the room. For once he completely agreed with his uncle. The sooner he was packed and out of number four Privet Drive forever, the better. Opening the front door, Harry found Ron and Hermione standing there, both dressed in casual (and mostly appropriate) Muggle attire: Hermione in a light blue blouse and blue jeans, and Ron, also in jeans and wearing a Chudley Cannons T-shirt. Both looked a bit apprehensive as the door opened, but they both smiled and relaxed upon seeing Harry.

"Hi, Harry!" Hermione said, then looked over his shoulder and asked, "Is — is everything okay?"

"Yeah," Harry said, stepping back to let them into the hall. "We were just discussing my travel arrangements. Come on in."

"Hi, Harry," Ron punched him lightly in the arm as he greeted him. Harry pushed the door closed and turned to face them both.

"Long time no see," Harry said with a grin. They both beamed at him in return; it had been only three days since their return on the Hogwarts Express. Hermione was practically bouncing on her toes; she finally stepped forward and hugged Harry tightly for several seconds.

"Is this your girlfriend?" a voice asked, and they turned to see Dudley standing there; he had followed Harry into the hall. "Or is he your boyfriend?" he added nastily, pointing at Ron.

"In case you never noticed, _Duddykins_," Harry said acidly, speaking softly so his voice wouldn't carry into the kitchen, "People who are friends hug each other. They don't go about beating up kids for grins." Dudley frowned and peered at him uncertainly, his mouth agape. Harry had a sudden insight that he'd been thinking exactly that.

"Don't you think," Hermione ventured timidly, "It would be proper to introduce us to your aunt and uncle, Harry?"

"Yeah, right," Harry said. He wanted nothing more than to get his things packed and be gone from this house forever. "Come on, then." He led the way into the kitchen. As Ron passed Dudley he reached in his pocket and held out a piece of candy toward him.

"Fancy a toffee, mate?" he asked, and Dudley instinctively reached for the sweet until he remembered what had happened the last time. A look of horror spread across his face and he backed away, shaking his head, then turned and ran upstairs. Grinning, Ron pocketed the sweet and followed Harry and Hermione into the kitchen.

In the kitchen, Harry made introductions. "This is my aunt and uncle, Vernon and Petunia Dursley," he said, indicating the two adults, then turned to Hermione and Ron. "These are my friends, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley."

"Good morning," Hermione said cheerfully and Ron made a small wave and a mumbled hello. Vernon looked at them both through narrowed, beady eyes, his bushy mustache twitching slightly as if chewing on something he wanted to say but couldn't quite spit it out.

"So," he said finally, looking at Hermione, "You're a –"

"A witch, yes," she finished, ignoring the violent flinch both adults gave upon hearing the word "witch." Mustering a smile at Vernon in spite of his suspicious stare, Hermione said, "We've heard quite a lot about you from Harry."

"Have you now?" Vernon's bushy eyebrows shot up at this. "What's he been saying about us?"

"Oh –" Hermione realized she'd never actually heard a nice thing about the Dursleys from Harry, other than how nice it was to leave every summer. "He's … just ... told us … about how you've … taken care of him all this time," she finished, with a faltering smile.

"I'll wager he has," Vernon muttered crossly. Petunia just stared at the two of them; Harry wondered if she was calculating how much the kitchen would have to be scrubbed after they left.

"Where did Dudders go?" Vernon looked around suddenly, finally realizing that Dudley was no longer in the room with them.

"Er –" Harry looked back and forth between his uncle and the hallway. "I think he went upstairs."

Just then there was a pounding of footsteps on the stairway as Dudley hurtled downstairs and out the front door. "I'll be back in a bit!" he shouted as the door slammed shut behind him.

There was an uncomfortable silence.

"Well," Hermione said finally. "Perhaps we should get you sorted out, Harry." Ron, who hadn't said a full sentence yet, looked at him, nodding as well.

"Right," Harry said, and the three of them edged toward the door. "I'll just go and get packed," he said to his aunt and uncle, who both just stared. He ducked out of the room and followed Ron and Hermione up the stairs. Ron found his room from memory and they all crowded into it.

"Hasn't changed much," Ron said, flopping onto the bed. "I see you're about packed," he grinned, as did Harry, seeing that everything was strewn about the room as if Harry had never planned on leaving.

Hermione was looking around with a mixture of indignation and disgust. "How can you _live_ like this?" She said incredulously. "And that smell…" Hermione's nose wrinkled as she said this.

"_What_ smell?" Harry asked, indignant.

"Well, I guess you could say it's the odor of … _teenage boy_," she finally ventured. Harry and Ron looked at each other, and at her. Ron carefully lifted his arms, one at a time, and sniffed loudly. Harry chuckled.

"That's what Mum says," he muttered to Harry. "Ginny too, lately. Personally, I've half a mind to drop a Dungbomb in her room sometime and see how she likes it."

Hermione shot Ron a dirty look, but rather than continue to bicker she pulled out her wand. "Well, let's get started, then." Harry and Ron followed suit, but when Harry turned to begin clearing his desk Hermione quickly put out a hand to stop him. "Er — Harry, I don't know if it's a good idea for you to –" She hesitated as Harry looked at her crossly, then plunged on. "You know the Ministry of Magic is watching this house. They'd love nothing better than to catch you performing magic while underage and out of bounds."

"Are you going to tell them?" Harry asked pointedly. "Besides, they can't tell who's doing the magic anyway! When Dobby tried to keep me from going to Hogwarts and worked magic, _I_ was the one who was blamed for it!"

"That's all the more reason _not_ to do any, then," Hermione said logically. Ron and Harry both rolled their eyes.

"With you and me here, how're they going to tell who did it?" Ron asked exasperatedly.

"They'll just assume Harry did!" Hermione said just as forcefully. "That's what they did before, and how would they know we're here, anyway? Did you send to an owl to your brother Percy to let him know what we're up to here?"

"You're barking!" But before Ron could continue or Hermione protested more Harry put up his hands in surrender.

"All right, all right! You win!" Harry shoved his wand into his back pocket. He sat on his bed, which Ron had vacated, and folded his legs in front of himself. "Just be sure you pack my trunk very neatly, thank you very much," he added with a bare trace of a smile on his lips.

Ron hid his mouth behind his hand. Hermione heaved a sigh and stared at Harry in mock disapproval for a few seconds before turning to Ron. "Alright, then, you start with the desk, I'll work on the wardrobe." They both turned and waved their wands, and things began flying through the air.

Harry had seen this before, when Nymphadora Tonks had packed his trunk the night the Order of the Phoenix had shown up at his house to escort him to the Burrow; but whereas Tonk's packing had been hurried and a bit clumsy (as Harry had learned when he opened his trunk later at school), this time it was much more orderly.

At least it was from Hermione's side of the room. Things were flying off his desk more or less at random; a few things zoomed so close to Ron he ducked out of the way, making Harry laugh. "Well I never packed by magic before," Ron muttered, stepping aside as Harry's copy of _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six_ flew past him and into Harry's trunk.

"Oh, Ron, honestly!" Hermione said impatiently. She waved her wand at Harry's desk and the few remaining objects in it – an old quill, some scraps of parchment, and a few spare Knuts, flew out of the drawers and into his trunk. "There! That does it," she finished with a flourish that closed the trunk's lid.

Harry looked around the room. Everything moveable except the furniture itself (and Hedwig and her cage, of course) had gone into Harry's trunk. He stood up from the bed and walked slowly around the room, checking to make sure nothing would be left behind; he would never be back to collect it if it were.

"Well that was easy," Ron said brightly, putting his wand away. "Now all we have to do is make it back home in one piece." His expression darkened. "Hermione, are you sure we can't give Apparition a go —?"

"How did you get here, anyway?" Harry asked, suddenly wondering.

"On the Knight Bus," Hermione told him, and Harry nodded, remembering his last ride on the Wizarding vehicle at the end of Christmas break in his fifth year when they'd returned to school from number twelve, Grimmauld Place.

"So, is Stan Shunpike back on the Bus?" Harry asked.

"Erm, no," Hermione said quietly. "Someone else has the job now."

"Anybody we know?"

"Yes," Ron said darkly. "But you'll see for yourself soon enough."

Harry raised his eyebrows at this but neither Ron nor Hermione elaborated further on who the new conductor was. Hermione finally gestured hesitantly at the door and said in a small voice, "Shall — shall we be off then?"

"Right," said Harry, a bit annoyed. He heaved his trunk out into the hallway and down the stairs, Ron and Hermione following right after him, Ron carrying Hedwig in her cage. He would have liked to keep on going, right out the front door, not looking back nor saying goodbye, but a small voice in the back of his head told him this would not only be unforgivably rude, but would in fact probably haunt him for the rest of his days. _They've never given a damn about me_, he told the voice. _They've ignored me, mistreated me, and when they weren't doing that, they put down me, my mum and dad, and every friend I've ever had. What do I owe _them_?_

_You owe them thanks for giving you a home_, the small voice reminded him. Harry sighed and turned to Ron and Hermione. "I'll go say goodbye, then," he mumbled, and Hermione gave him a reassuring pat on the arm as he walked past her and into the kitchen.

The Dursleys were still there, minus Dudley, who still wasn't back from wherever he'd gotten off to. Harry stood in the kitchen doorway, feeling hideously uncomfortable, while Vernon gazed at him with narrowed eyes and Petunia stared at him, stone-faced.

"Thanks for, for taking care of me all this time," Harry said finally. "I know you didn't want to, but…" he trailed off, not knowing quite what to say next. "But, I just… thanks," he finished simply.

"Just thanks, eh?" Vernon grunted. He'd evidently been working himself into a state thinking about Harry's imminent departure. "Easy of you to dismiss the last sixteen ruddy years we've taken care of you, fed you, clothed you. And now you want to –" Petunia laid a hand on his arm and as he turned to her gave a little warning shake of her head. Vernon looked at her, annoyed, but sighed gustily and turned back to Harry. "Alright, then. Well, off you go," he waved at the door, gesturing for Harry to leave, and Harry did just that with a final "Bye," over his shoulder.

He walked out of the kitchen and up to the front door, where Ron and Hermione were waiting for him. "How did it go?" Hermione whispered as Harry gathered up his trunk.

"Marvelous," Harry grunted. "We kissed and made up and everything." Ron pulled a face at the thought, then opened the door so Harry could pull his trunk through. Hermione followed, and they were finally out of the house. Harry looked up and down Privet Drive. He could imagine the neighbors behind their blinds and curtains, peering outside at the sight of three young people carrying a trunk and a cage with an owl in it walking out of the Dursley home. His aunt Petunia would probably be making excuses for weeks about Harry being sent off early to St. Brutus's Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys. Harry wondered if anyone ever asked: If Harry was incurably criminal, why was he ever allowed to come home?

"I thought I would have heard the Knight Bus pulling up in front of the house," Harry remarked, turning to Hermione.

"Well," she explained. "I didn't want to upset your aunt and uncle, so I had the Bus drop us off a block away. Just up there," and she pointed to the north, up to where Wisteria Walk intersected with Privet Drive.

"Come on, then," Harry said, turning north. "We can get on it up there. I'm sure the neighbors here have loads to talk about already."

They started walking north along Privet Drive. Ron offered Harry and Hermione a toffee, which Harry took and almost started to bite into before looking at Ron sharply. "Is this one of Fred and George's?"

"No," Ron said, grinning. "But it was fun to offer it to your cousin Dudley and watch him turn green remembering the last one he ate."

At that moment, however, ahead of them, Harry saw a group of boys turn onto Privet Drive from Wisteria Walk and he knew, with a sinking feeling, that he wasn't going to leave the Dursleys without a final confrontation with Dudley.

Dudley was in the lead of his gang, a group of boy who enjoyed watching him torment younger children. His oldest friend, Piers Polkiss, whom Harry remembered enjoyed holding him so Dudley could slug him, was at his side as usual. Piers, who'd been a scrawny, rat-faced boy, had grown into a weedy, sullen-faced youth. The other boys, Dennis, Malcolm and Gordon, who reminded Harry of Muggle versions of Crabbe and Goyle, generally stood around and laughed as Dudley and Piers roughed up some 11 or 12-year old.

Ron and Hermione had noticed them as well; Ron said out of the corner of his mouth, "I see your cousin has got some reinforcements."

"Yeah," Harry muttered, moving his right hand around to his back pocket where his wand was. "Get your wands ready, maybe he'll back down if he realizes you can do magic."

"Whatever you do," Hermione whispered quickly. "Don't pull out your wand, Harry! Let me and Ron handle this. Ron, remember these are Muggles, they won't have wands of their own."

"But they've got fists of their own," Ron whispered back. "And I expect they aren't afraid of using them on _us_."

Harry wanted to believe his cousin wasn't stupid enough to attack them. Every time he'd seen magic before he'd been terrified. But he'd never had his gang with him before; maybe he thought they couldn't use magic in front of people who didn't know about it. Which was true enough, of course, but they were allowed to use magic to protect themselves. Also, Harry was hampered with his trunk and Ron was carrying Hedwig.

As they drew nearer each other both Dudley and Harry slowed down and finally stopped about ten feet from each other and Harry let his trunk settle onto the sidewalk. Piers stayed next to Dudley; the other three boys spread out and surrounded Harry, Ron and Hermione. Dudley was wearing a triumphant grin, as if it was a clever maneuver to show up after Harry had left the house, so Vernon and Petunia wouldn't see him bullying Harry, not that Harry thought either of them would mind much.

"So you're leaving, are you?" Dudley said, eyeing Harry's trunk and the cage in Ron's hand. He hadn't sounded nearly this brave last night when he'd asked the same question. The other boys grunted laughter at this; as usual, their role in the gang was to be Dudley's cheering section.

"Yeah," said Harry. He'd stopped being afraid of Dudley back when he'd first found out he was a wizard. But, as annoying and bullying as Dudley and his parents had been, he'd never willfully used magic against any of them. Oh, he'd accidentally caused Dudley's Aunt Marge to inflate like a balloon some years back, and he'd been sorely tempted to jinx Dudley or Vernon on occasion, but he'd never done it. It was so tempting, now that he'd never see them again, to let fly with a Bat-Bogey Hex or something similarly appropriate for Dudley. But the little voice in the back of his head was making _tch-tch_'ing sounds…

"Well I was telling the guys earlier today," Dudley went on, with a nasty grin, "That maybe before you left you'd do a trick for them."

"A trick?" Harry echoed, wondering what Dudley was playing at. Had he told his Muggle friends that his cousin was a wizard?

"Yeah, you know. Like when you made the glass in the reptile house at the zoo disappear," Dudley reminded him.

"I remember that!" Piers piped up. "It was wicked cool." Dudley, annoyed, poked him in the arm and Piers fell silent, looking chastised.

Harry looked around at the other members in the gang surrounding them. Ron had one hand in his pocket and Hermione had her arms crossed; Harry could see her holding her wand under one arm. He looked back at Dudley and said, "I don't have time to show you a trick, 'Big D' – I've got to catch a bus."

There were snickers from the group. "Oh, getting a bit cheeky, are we?" Dudley sneered. He stepped within a few feet of Harry, trying to intimidate him with his sheer bulk, which arguably was an impressive amount of fat and muscle. "You know what happens when I get cheeked, don't you?"

"I suppose you'll need to find a ten-year old to beat up, won't you?" Harry said sarcastically, and Piers moved off to his side, prepared to step in and grab Harry for Dudley to punch.

"Isn't ickle Harry so smart, then?" Piers sniggered. "Maybe he wants us to persuade him to show us a trick, Duds."

"Maybe he does," Dudley agreed, punching one hand into his palm threateningly. "Maybe I'll just have to convince him to do something for us." He nodded at Piers, who stepped behind Harry and grabbed his arms. At the same moment the other boys moved toward Ron and Hermione.

"Now!" Harry and Dudley both shouted at the same moment. Dudley stepped forward, planted his feet and swung a meaty fist at Harry's head. However, he'd telegraphed the blow so much that Harry just ducked forward and down, pulling Piers forward enough for Dudley's fist to catch him in the nose. Piers swore and released Harry, who stepped away from between them. Dudley watched stupidly as Piers grabbed his now-bleeding nose, his eyes screwing up and watering.

At the same time Harry heard cries of "_Petrificus Totalus!_" and "_Stupefy!_" as Ron and Hermione each defended themselves. Looking back, he saw that Dennis, Malcolm and Gordon were all on the ground; Dennis had been frozen in mid-step and had toppled over. He looked like he was in the middle of a push-up as his hands were outstretched to grab Ron. Malcolm and Gordon were sprawled loosely on the ground.

Looking at the three of them on the ground, Piers, still holding his bleeding nose, let out an ear-splitting scream and ran off up Privet Drive and around the corner of Wisteria Walk, leaving Dudley alone facing two wands pointed at his face as well as an annoyed, panting Harry.

With his gang suddenly unconscious or scared off, Dudley was quickly reverting back to being terrified of all things and persons magical. "Y-you can't do magic outside of school! You'll get expelled!"

Hermione shook her head, and Ron growled, "Not ruddy likely, you big stupid git."

"They're both seventeen," Harry told him. "They can do magic outside of school now."

"But not in front of – of people who aren't – aren't like _you_!" Dudley protested desperately, now backing away with his hands held protectively in front of himself.

"You mean, who aren't great lumps like you who like beating people up because they 'cheek' you?" Harry said angrily.

"You want me to hex him for you, Harry?" Ron asked, waving his wand in Dudley's face. "Maybe he'd like a nose to go with the tail Hagrid gave him."

Dudley's eyes grew large and frightened. Back when Harry first met Hagrid, Vernon Dursley had insulted Professor Dumbledore. Hagrid, in retaliation, had cast a spell causing Dudley to sprout a pig's tail (although Hagrid later told Harry he'd been trying to turn him into a pig). Dudley took a step back, alternately covering his buttocks and his nose with his hands, as if that could protect them.

"Nah," Harry said. He stepped up to Dudley, who now with no gang to stand behind him was almost cowering in fear. "It would really be fun to hex you good, Dudley, for all the times you chased me and stuffed me into trash cans or pounded me. But you'll notice I've never done anything to you in all these years."

"Because you weren't allowed!" Dudley squeaked, in spite of himself.

"And now that I can do something, I'm still not," Harry reminded him. "You're still my cousin, even if you do hate me and are a right foul git. I don't hate you, Dudley. I guess the point is, I just don't care about you right now, which is probably worse."

"We're going to go, now." Harry waved a hand over Dudley's gang laying about on the sidewalk. "Your friends will wake up in a while. You'd better tell them you were joking about the magic stuff – tell them what we did was hypnosis, or something like that, and that we knocked them out with sleeping powder or something –"

"They won't believe that!" Dudley protested.

"You'd be surprised what people accept rather than believe in magic," Harry said coolly. He grabbed his trunk and jerked his thumb for Dudley to move out of his way. Dudley hurriedly walked around him, stopping in the middle of his gang who were still out cold or frozen on the sidewalk. "See you, Dudders," Harry called over his shoulder, and he, Ron and Hermione continued up Privet Drive after Hermione flicked her wand at Dennis, who sagged to the ground as the Body-Bind curse was lifted.

"That was brilliant, Harry!" Ron enthused after they had walked a dozen yards or so. "I thought he was going to wet himself when I offered to give him a pig nose to go with his tail."

"I wouldn't have done that anyway," Hermione sniffed. "It would have made him look much too handsome." Harry and Ron looked at her and began laughing. She smiled proudly at her joke.

They walked on for a half block, then Harry started looking around for someplace unobtrusive where they could call the Knight Bus. Hedwig suddenly hooted and Harry looked at her in her cage. She seemed agitated. "What is it, Hedwig?" Harry said softly. "What's got you riled up?"

"I see what," Hermione said suddenly, looking up. "Owl's coming."

Harry turned and followed her gaze. A large brown owl was descending toward them. It landed on Harry's trunk, holding a large parchment envelope in its beak, which Harry took and ripped open, knowing before he even got the letter out what it was going to say:

* * *

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_We have again received information that you have performed magic in a Muggle-inhabited area._

_While apparently no Muggles were with you at the time, this again constitutes a breach of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery and we regret to inform you that you are hereby expelled from Hogwarts School of Wizardry and Witchcraft, pending a disciplinary hearing at the Ministry of Magic scheduled for 2 __p.m.__ on July 14th._

_Please report to the Magical Law Enforcement Office at this time, and be prepared to surrender your wand for destruction if you are found guilty of the charges. _

_Hoping you are well,_

_Yours sincerely,_

Malfada Hopkirk

Improper use of magic office

_Ministry of Magic_

* * *

"Perfect," Harry said bitterly. "Just _perfect_."

"What is it Harry?" Hermione asked worriedly.

"You were right about the magic," he said, handing her the letter. "They decided it was _me_ doing it in my room and I've been expelled. Again."

Hermione was shaking her head. "Well, this is just wrong. You _didn't_ do any magic! We'll have to come along to your hearing and tell your side of the story."

Ron, reading over her shoulder, was shaking his head as well. "Hermione, you know those trolls at the Ministry have it in for Harry. He barely made it out of there the last time, and that was with Dumbledore's help."

"And it doesn't matter anyway," Harry added. "I'm not going back to Hogwarts."

"Well, we can sort that out later," Hermione said, making Harry frown slightly. _What was there to sort out?_ "For now we've got to get back to the Burrow as soon as possible and let Ron's father and the Order know what's happened." She put out her wand hand.

_BANG._

A violently purple, triple-decker bus appeared out of nowhere at the curb in front of them. The door opened and a youth in a purple uniform looked down at them. Unlike the gangly, pimple-faced Stan Shunpike, the new Knight Bus conductor was larger and more solidly build. Having seen the three of them, his face was now wearing a sneer, a face that Harry found familiar –

"Welcome to the Knight Bus, Potter," the conductor drawled, and Harry finally recognized him. It was Adrian Pucey, a Slytherin he'd played Quidditch against last year. He made no move to help them on, just waved a hand airily at them as he stepped back from the door. "Come on, then, if you're getting on, we don't have all day." Ron and Hermione followed Harry, dragging his trunk, onto the Bus.

As usual for daytime, the Bus had an assortment of mismatched chairs placed haphazardly around the windows of the Bus. It was not very crowded at the moment, only a dozen or so curious eyes followed them as they made their way to a group of unoccupied seats. Pucey followed them and asked condescendingly, "Where are you headed now? Off to summer school for remedial Potions with Potter?"

"Back to the Burrow," Ron snapped. He handed over 14 Sickles for the fare; Hermione followed suit and Harry dug some coins out of his pocket and dropped them in Pucey's outstretched hand. Pucey sneered and walked away.

_BANG._

The Bus lurched violently and half the passengers fell out of their seats. Harry had managed to stay upright by grabbing a candleholder. Ron and Hermione were still seated as well. They'd pulled up in front of the Leaky Cauldron, and as a few of the passengers got off Hermione whispered to Harry, "When we first got on he tried to charge us _two Galleons_ each to come get you, until Ernie stopped him."

"Talk about highway robbery," Ron muttered. Just then an elderly witch coming up from the rear of the bus stopped besides their chairs.

"Hello, dears," she said quaveringly, looking closely at Ron, who blinked and glanced sideways at Harry and Hermione as she peered at him. "Sorry, love, I thought you were someone else. I'm heading for their shop in Diagon Alley – they sell a perfect road sickness remedy."

"Do you mean the Weasleys' shop?" Hermione said, making the connection. "Ron here is their brother," she added despite Ron's furtive hand motions trying to cut her off.

"_Is_ he now?" the elderly lady beamed at Ron, displaying a yellowed but perfect set of teeth. Ron smiled up weakly at her. "I'm Madam Marsh," she said, by way of introduction. "I just adore those lads," she continued as she patted Ron absently on his red-thatched head. "They're always so sweet and courteous! And they give me a good discount, too. They even gave me some remedy for free when I was a bit, er, behind, gold-wise."

Harry remembered her now; she had been on the bus two Christmases ago when they traveled back to Hogwarts on the Knight Bus. The trip back had been quite bumpy and she'd been ill, leading Stan and Ernie to drop her off first thing after they'd boarded, to the relief of the other passengers.

Hermione had remembered too, evidently. "How have you been feeling lately?" Ron winced and Harry stifled a smile; he, like Ron, knew you _never_ asked an older person how they were feeling unless you had plenty of time to spare for the reply.

"Not too bad, not too bad," Madam Marsh said. "My arthritis hasn't been acting up lately, and my old legs are still getting me around, but –"

"Let's get a move on, there," Pucey's drawling voice interrupted her. "We got other passengers who're waiting –" There was a _harrumph_ from the driver's seat; Ernie Prang, the Bus's driver, had cut Pucey off.

"We've got a bit of time to spare," Ernie said softly. It was one of the few times Harry had ever heard him speak. Pucey glared at him, annoyed, but shrugged and said nothing more.

Madam Marsh, however, decided it was time for her to go as well. "Take care, dearies, I've got to dash." She waved then turned and walked slowly to the front, where she gave Ernie a few affectionate pats on his shoulder; apparently they knew one another well, then climbed slowly down the steps to the curb in front of the Leaky Cauldron. Ernie cranked the doors closed.

_BANG._

The scenery jumped again, this time to the outskirts of Ottery St. Catchpole, the small village north of the Burrow, as the Bus rumbled down the road leading away from town and turned onto the lane that lead to the Burrow. Several people were still picking themselves up off the floor when the Bus slowed to a stop.

"End of the line," Pucey informed them, and Harry began gathering up his trunk. Ron took Hedwig's cage again and they made their way to the front of the bus where Pucey watched them with hooded eyes.

Ernie had turned to watch them disembark as well, and when Harry went by he made a point of saying, "Thanks, Ernie," to the driver, ignoring Pucey. Ernie grinned and touched the brim of his cap as they each went by. Hermione was the last to step off the Bus and as she did, the doors closed and the Bus rumbled forward, making a U-turn, literally, by twisting back on itself in the middle of the lane until it pointed back the way it had come, then disappeared with a final loud _BANG_.

"I wonder what Stan's doing now?" Harry wondered again as the Bus departed. "He was loads better at his job than Pucey is."

"Yeah," Ron agreed. "He wasn't much of a Quidditch player, either."

"We'd better go in," Hermione said urgently, "So we can figure out what to do about the letter." She hurried up the path to the Burrow as Ron and Harry followed her lugging Hedwig's cage and Harry's trunk.

"Welcome back!" Mrs. Weasley, her plump face lighting up as they trudged in the door. She hurried over to give welcoming hugs to Hermione and Harry. It felt nice, Harry thought, to actually be welcomed into a home rather than being allowed in, grudgingly, resentfully, as every homecoming to Privet Drive had felt like. Mrs. Weasley beamed at him and Hermione and gestured to the scrubbed table in the middle of the kitchen. "Sit down, I'll fix up something for you to eat."

"I just finished breakfast a while ago," Harry said, not sitting. But just then his nose filled with the savory aroma of cooking: kippers, eggs, biscuits and toast. "But –" he added, pulling out the chair and seating himself along with Hermione and Ron, "I could eat a bit more."

"Well, look what the Bus dragged in," a familiar voice said and Harry turned to see Fred and his twin George come into the room. They each shook his hand, then Harry said, "It looks like no joy for your favorite customer if you're home – she was looking forward to seeing you again."

"You mean Madam Marsh?" Fred said, grabbing a piece of toast off of Ron's plate.

"We took care of her before popping home," George said, taking a biscuit.

"She does love our No Chunder Wonder Elixir," Fred added. "Very fitting since it was she who gave us the idea." Fred and George had also been on the Knight Bus the day Madam Marsh had been ill on the lowest level.

"If you two want to eat, sit down at the table and I'll fix you something," Mrs. Weasley said crossly. "Don't go nicking food from everyone else's plates."

"Nicked food always tastes better, Mum," Fred said with a wink at Harry, who grinned. "We used to get loads of it when we were at school."

"Considering that house-elves were more than happy to give food to anyone who came down to the kitchen," Hermione said matter-of-factly, "It wasn't much like nicking it, was it?"

"Well it was the principle of the thing, you know," George said with a shrug.

"Hermione says it's been busy here this week," Harry said to Mrs. Weasley as she put his plate in front of him.

"Oh, it's been a madhouse, dear – a madhouse!" she said as she hurried back to the stove. "Fleur and Gabrielle have been here for a week getting things ready, and Bill and Mr. Weasley have been working on the yard, with Ron's help these last few days since school's let out." She turned and fanned herself with her apron. "Fleur and I sent out invitations just this Monday; it took us all day Sunday to write them out. The replies have been pouring in. We'll barely have room for everybody, even out in the yard. We may have to – ah, here's the bride-to-be herself!" Mrs. Weasley changed her thought in mid-sentence as Fleur Delacour entered the kitchen.

"'Ello, everyone! Ah, 'Arry!" Fleur said, spotting Harry. She bent over and kissed him on the cheek. "'Ow 'ave you been?"

"Fine," Harry said, smiling at her. Originally cool to him when she first came to Hogwarts during the Tri-Wizard Tournament three years ago, Fleur warmed up to him after the second task when Harry rescued her younger sister Gabrielle. It apparently hadn't mattered to Fleur that, while Harry had thought that her sister, Ron, Hermione and Cho Chang had been kidnapped somehow by the merpeople of the lake near Hogwarts, that it had merely been part of the arrangements for the task. "Are you looking forward to the wedding?"

Fleur laughed, a sound that sent tingles down Harry's spine. "Of course, of course! What bride doesn't look forward to 'er wedding day? 'As Bill asked you to stand in the wedding party yet, 'Arry? You will make quite the dashing addition to the groomsmen. Won't 'e, Molly?" she asked, turning to Mrs. Weasley.

"Oh yes," she agreed, beaming at Harry. "Bill already has his suit picked out." Harry was beginning to get the feeling he was going to be in the wedding party whether he wanted to or not.

Ginny walked into the kitchen at that moment, and she and Harry locked eyes for a moment. Harry felt a pang of regret that he'd broken up with her at Dumbledore's funeral. With Bill and Fleur getting married in a few days, it would be more difficult than ever to remain resolved not to be with her until Voldemort was dead. But there was no other choice – Harry did not want anything to happen to Ginny.

"Hi Harry," Ginny said brightly. "Long time no see. Welcome back to the Burrow." She, at least, Harry thought, didn't seem to be suffering from any the effects of their breakup.

"Hi Ginny," Harry greeted her in return. "It's nice to be back again." He'd just finished off his plate and as he put down his fork Mrs. Weasley waved her wand and his, Ron and Hermione's plates all floated over to the sink.

"Ron, now that you're done, take Harry's trunk upstairs to your room," she said briskly. "And I've got some other things for you to take care of after that." She turned and levitated Fred and George's now-empty plates to the sink as well.

"I'll help him," Harry said, getting up as well. "It's a bit heavy."

"I need to go up to my room for a moment," Hermione said, following Ron and Harry as they carried the trunk up the stairs.

"We're popping off too," Fred said, giving his mother a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Back to the old grind," George added, following suit. "We'll see you all later," he called up after them. "Bye, Mum," they both said in unison to Mrs. Weasley, then walked out the door and past the gate, where they Disapparated.

Ron's room was right under the attic, but with both Ron and Harry carrying his trunk it wasn't very long before they'd made it up to his room. Hermione walked in a moment later, after she'd stopped off at her room "for a moment," as she'd told Mrs. Weasley, she'd run up to join them. She carefully shut the door behind them and said to Harry, "So what do you think we should do about your letter?"

Ron, now stretched out on his bed, muttered, "I thought you were keen to tell Mum the minute we got here."

"Well, she was in such a good mood I didn't want to spoil it for her," Hermione said plaintively. "We can wait for Mr. Weasley to get home – he may know about it already."

Harry had pulled the letter from his trunk and was reading it again, getting more and more irritated by the second. "Yeah, I'm sure it's the top news at the Ministry water coolers – 'Harry Potter charged again in trumped-up Ministry attempt to discredit him.' What I don't know," he said, waving the letter in front of him, "Is what their game is this time. A few days ago Rufus Scrimgeour was asking me to be the Ministry's poster boy."

"Maybe he's decided to stop playing around and come after you," Ron suggested darkly. "Like Fudge did."

"Cornelius Fudge was afraid that Professor Dumbledore was planning to take over his job as Minister of Magic," Hermione reminded them. "They offered Dumbledore the job before Fudge; I think he was rather envious of Dumbledore's prestige in the Wizarding community."

"He must've been," Ron agreed. "To send us Umbridge."

Unconsciously Harry glanced down at his right hand. The scars of his detentions with Dolores Umbridge were still barely visible there, the marks of a magical quill that cut into his flesh the lines she had set him writing. It was easy to imagine that she would have advised Scrimgeour to have him expelled for the least reason. And imagining that was making him more and more angry at the lackadaisical way the Ministry verified its facts. Scrimgeour was supposed to be a former Auror, for Merlin's sake! Harry looked up at Ron and Hermione.

"Right," he said firmly. "We're going to fight them."

"All right Harry!" Ron cheered, and Hermione smiled broadly. Just then there was a knock at the door and Ginny's voice said, "It's me."

"Come on in," Ron called, and Ginny stepped inside, shutting the door behind her.

"What's up?" she asked. "I heard you cheering Harry on." Harry handed her the Ministry letter and she read it, her expression growing more incredulous by the moment. "What rubbish!" she finally said fiercely. "Have they nothing better to do than watch Harry's house for magic spells!?"

"Wasn't even me," Harry said pointedly. "Ron and Hermione were packing up my things. They thought it was me."

"But we'll get it sorted out," Hermione said, taking the letter and putting it back in the parchment envelope.

But Ginny now looked stricken, "Oh blimey," she said softly. "I forgot to tell you," she said, looking worriedly at Ron and Hermione. A couple of owls arrived a few minutes before you got here today. I was going to give you the letters when I saw you, but with everything going on today, I forgot…" She reached into the apron she was wearing and pulled out two parchment envelopes very similar to the one Harry had gotten.

"Oh, no," Hermione said, looking at the envelopes. She took them from Ginny and, passing the one with Ron's name on it to him, opened hers and read:

_

* * *

_

Dear Miss Granger,

_We have received information that you have performed magic in a Muggle-inhabited area and in the presence of one or more Muggles._

_While you are now of age to perform magic outside of school premises, section 14 of the International Confederation of Wizards' Statute of Secrecy clearly prohibits the performance of magic while in the presence of Muggles. We regret to inform you that you are hereby expelled from Hogwarts School of Wizardry and Witchcraft, pending a disciplinary hearing at the Ministry of Magic scheduled for 3 __p.m.__ on August 5th._

_Please report to the Magical Law Enforcement Office at this time, and be prepared to surrender your wand for destruction if you are found guilty of the charges. _

_Hoping you are well,_

_Yours sincerely,_

Malfada Hopkirk

Improper use of magic office

_Ministry of Magic_

* * *

She looked up at Harry, dumbstruck. Her mouth actually opened a few times as she tried to speak, but nothing came out. "It must be pretty bad," Ginny said matter-of-factly, then looked over Hermione's shoulder at the letter. "Yep, she's expelled. What about you, Ron?"

"The same," he said morosely. "It's not that I care so much about being expelled – we were defending ourselves – but Mum's going to kill me when she sees this. Two years a prefect, and now – expelled!"

"Don't be silly," Hermione snapped. She'd found her voice again, and it was shaking with anger. "They can't expel us like this – it's, it's just _stupid_!"

"Welcome to the club," Harry said.


	3. For Whom the Wedding Bell Tolls

Chapter Three

**For Whom the Wedding Bell Tolls**

As expected, the news about the letters from the Ministry did not sit well with either Mr. or Mrs. Weasley. Harry presented the letter he'd received to Mrs. Weasley, who read it, all the while swelling with outrage and indignation.

"WHAT IN THE WORLD ARE THEY DOING AT THE MINISTRY," she shouted after reading the letter. "SPYING FULL TIME ON HARRY?!"

Mr. Weasley was calmer but no less angry. "I didn't think things like this would be a problem after Rufus Scrimgeour took over as Minister," he said grimly. "He's a tough but fair man. But _this_ –" he slapped the letter with his free hand "– this smacks of Cornelius Fudge's work, if he was still there. Or Dolores Umbridge."

"That's just what we thought," Ron said quickly. "That it was Dolores Umbridge's doing somehow."

"What happened to Fudge?" Harry asked. "I thought Scrimgeour kept him on in an advisory capacity after he took over."

"Fudge took his fall from power rather badly, after all," Mr. Weasley replied. "After the transition to his administration was complete, Scrimgeour all but ignored him, all the while trying to get Harry to side with the Ministry against Dumbledore – "

"Which wasn't going to happen," Harry added grimly.

"Yes, well… what was inexplicable," Mr. Weasley continued, "was that, just before he was sacked, Fudge was trying to get Dumbledore to convince you, Harry, to voice your support for the Ministry. Mind you, this was _after_ he'd tried to have you expelled and _after_ all that bad business with Dolores Umbridge coming into Hogwarts as High Inquisitor and taking over as Head of the school." Mr. Weasley shook his balding, red-topped head. "Why he thought Dumbledore wouldn't see through that ploy in a moment is anyone's guess. Fudge was never much good at reading people."

"Well, it gets better," Hermione cut in hesitantly. "Because after we left Harry's house we had a, er – an 'encounter' with his cousin Dudley and several of his Muggle friends."

Both of the elder Weasleys' eyes widened in surprise, then Mr. Weasley sighed wearily as Mrs. Weasley's lips set in a thin line. Abashed, Hermione looked away. "They were trying to pick a fight with Harry," she finally continued as they listened intently. "But he didn't do anything then, either!" she added quickly. "When Dudley and his friend grabbed Harry, the others went for us, and we –" she paused, choosing her next words carefully "– we _defended_ ourselves against them. Then, these came to the Burrow later," she brought out her own letter from the Ministry, handing it to Mr. Weasley, who looked at it for a moment, then at Hermione again.

"'_These'_ letters, you say?" he asked quietly. "Is there another one?"

Ron slowly brought out his own letter, handing it to his mother. She took it and looked at her husband, shaking her head. They both opened the letters and began reading.

"Well, nothing remarkable there, really," Mr. Weasley said gamely a few moments later. "Although all these letters make use of unproven assumptions about the presence of Muggles – unless there was an independent eyewitness, of course."

"Arthur, this is just ridiculous!" Mrs. Weasley said loudly, throwing Ron's letter onto the table, where it landed in the gravy; Ron hastily retrieved it and wiped it off. "I can see _Fudge_ playing politics, but what's Scrimgeour's game? It's almost like the Ministry is turning against us!"

"Molly, the Ministry isn't _for_ or _against_ us," Mr. Weasley said patiently. "They're supposed to be for _the law_. Although, I confess, they seem to be doing a rather poor job of standing up for it lately."

Ginny spoke up for the first time since dinner started. "What can Harry do about his letter, then?"

"He'll have to be at that hearing, of course," Mr. Weasley said. "All of you will," he added, including Ron and Hermione with a nod. "Just as Harry will have to be at yours. When is your hearing, Ron?"

"At 4 p.m. on August 5th," Ron replied, checking his letter.

"Good, they're scheduled close together," Mr. Weasley said, thinking. "I don't think Scrimgeour has ever filled the Head of the Magical Law Enforcement Department. I'm sure he'd want an Auror with considerable experience there."

"But what if they hold this hearing in front of the Wizards' Court?" Ron asked, his voice quavering. "That's what they did to Harry the last time, changed it so he had to stand in front of the full court!"

"You may have a better chance in front of the Wizengamot than in front of Scrimgeour," Mr. Weasley said soberly. "If this is his doing he could press every advantage in a small closed-door hearing. In front of the full Court, however, he'll have to abide by the majority opinion. We'll have to see if Kingsley Shacklebolt can come up with any details of the hearings for us."

Fleur, who had been silent up until now, finally asked, "Zo, is thees 'ow British law works? Is the Meenistry of Magic zo concerned about underage magic zat zey ignore ze crimes of Dark wizards in favor of prosecuting teenagers?"

"Fleur, I assure you it is not how the law works here," Mr. Weasley said at once. "But no system is perfect."

"In France," Fleur said haughtily, "we would not concern ouzelves with whether a teenager was cleaning his room weeth magic or not."

"Well, it's not quite that simple, my dear," Mr. Weasley said patiently.

"And Harry didn't do anything anyway!" Ginny snapped. "The problem is with the lot enforcing the laws, not the laws themselves!"

"But they're the ones making the laws," Ron pointed out. "The best laws in the world won't do much good if they aren't enforced properly."

"Everyone just calm down," Mr. Weasley held his hands up as Ron and Ginny continued to argue. Harry watched in mild fascination; Fleur had said something that had provoked Hermione, who was now launching into a discussion of the equality of laws over species boundaries such as elves, giants, goblins and centaurs. Harry spared a glance at Fleur's younger sister, Gabrielle, who had not spoken at all during dinner. Catching her eye, he rolled his eyes at the proceedings; she hid a giggle behind her hand then smiled at him.

"THAT'S ENOUGH!" Mrs. Weasley's outburst put an end to all discussions, and after a moment of silence she added with barely controlled temper, "Ron, I want you to start cleaning off the table as soon as we're through. Ginny, you'll wash the dishes. Both of you will dry."

"But — " Ron and Ginny both began.

"I AM NOT ASKING FOR YOUR OPINIONS!" Mrs. Weasley shouted, cutting them both off. "YOU'RE DOING DISHES AND THAT'S FINAL! AND _NO MAGIC, _RON!" Then in a perfectly normal voice she said to the others, "Would you dears minding staying out of the kitchen while they work? I'd like them to have as few distractions as possible."

A short time later Harry was in Ron's bedroom; it was the only place in the house he could avoid, at least for the time being, any further questions about the letters. Mr. Weasley was writing a letter to Remus Lupin at the Order of the Phoenix's headquarters in number 12 Grimmauld Place, Sirius's old house which he'd bequeathed to Harry along with everything in it including, unfortunately, his house-elf Kreacher, who loathed Harry and all things to do with the Order. Only the fact that he was bound to serve his master (Harry now that Sirius was dead) kept him from running to be with Bellatrix Lestrange, whom Kreacher had desired to be his mistress.

There was a soft knock on the door and at Harry's quiet "Come in" Hermione slipped into the room, closing it behind her. She sat down on Ron's bed and after a moment, said in a low voice, "I wonder sometimes what it would be like to live in this house full-time. She seems to give Ron and Ginny a harder time than she does any of us."

Harry shrugged. "Even at her worst she's a dozen times better than my aunt and uncle," he said simply.

"I suppose so." Hermione looked at him intently, and after a few moments Harry raised his eyebrows at her in silent inquiry.

"What will this do to your plans to find You-Know-Who and the you-know-whats?" she finally said breathlessly.

Harry had been thinking about that himself this afternoon. "Nothing," he said at once.

"What do you mean, 'nothing?' " Hermione asked, perplexed and indignant. "If these are trumped-up charges and you don't beat them, your wand's destroyed and you can never buy another one. That means you can never find any you-know-whats or locate You-Know-Who!"

"And that means," Harry replied quietly, "That I can't lose my wand, whether the hearing goes my way or not. I spent all last year learning about Voldemort –" He ignored Hermione's flinch at the name – "and now that he's d-dead, I can't let everything he's done to stop Voldemort go to waste. I have no choice."

"We always have choices, Harry." Hermione looked at him sternly. "Remember what you told me Dumbledore said, a long time ago? He said we all have to make choices between what is right, and what is easy?"

"I remember," Harry said calmly. "And I hope that the right way is what works. But one way or another, I have to put a stop to Voldemort."

Hermione said nothing. She looked intensely unhappy. "I know that, too," she said finally. I-I just wonder if you're really ready for that."

Harry laughed. "No, I'm not. Voldemort's probably the most powerful Dark wizard in the world. Dumbledore was the only wizard he ever feared, and now he's – dead." He stood suddenly and walked to the window, looking at the path that led to the road where the Knight Bus had dropped them off. The sun was low in the sky, Harry could see the lengthening shadow of the house stretching before him. He turned back to Hermione. "Common sense says I haven't got a chance against Voldemort. But Dumbledore thought I did, and I'll back his play against what anyone else says." Harry sighed heavily. A deep sadness had come over him. "I just wish he wasn't – wasn't … gone," he finished, his voice breaking.

Hermione looked at him a moment, stricken, her eyes beginning to tear up; she leaped up suddenly and hugged him fiercely. Harry broke down, finally, sobbing onto her shoulder as she held him tightly.

"I-I couldn't do anything," Harry whispered, his eyes tightly shut as if that would hold the tears back. But they came anyway, running down his face and onto Hermione's shoulder. "Dumbledore had put a Full Body Bind spell on me. I still don't know why he did that! He ch-chatted with Malfoy and the Death Eaters like they were at afternoon tea, like none of them were intent on killing him. And I had to watch S-Snape … " he couldn't say it again. Hermione was rubbing his back and murmuring words of comfort. They stood that way for what seemed like a very long time.

Neither of them was aware of the door opening and closing until Ron said, mildly, "Anything I need to know about you two?" Harry stepped back quickly, wiping his eyes, as Hermione shot Ron a disgusted look.

"Harry was just remembering the night Dumbledore died," she said tartly. Ron's mouth made a small "o" as the import of that sunk home.

"Well," he said quickly, deciding to ignore what he'd walked in on, "Mum's off the warpath, at least for a while. I guess she worked it out on Ginny and me.

"Dad wrote Lupin and gave him the details of what we told him and what our letters said we were charged with. Assuming it's not a set-up, we should be able to sort it out pretty easily, he thinks. I dunno what Lupin can do other than get Kingsley Shacklebolt to nose around at the Ministry and get the details of what's up."

Harry had walked slowly back to his camp bed while Ron was saying this. He sat down and looked at Ron, his eyes red. "I'm not going to give up my wand, Ron," he said flatly. "I have to finish what I started first."

"Well, of course you're not going to give up your wand!" Ron agreed. He sat on his own bed and regarded Harry silently for a few moments. Hermione looked back and forth between them then quietly sat down beside Ron. "You know we're still with you, mate, whatever they try to do to us."

Harry nodded. It was not something he'd wanted, at first, Ron and Hermione risking their lives in his effort to destroy Voldemort. The more he'd thought about it, though, the more he'd come to see that he could no more deny them the opportunity to help him make things right than they could deny him his own determination to see it through to the end. To continue on with the tasks Dumbledore had prepared him for.

"It's not going to be easy," Harry said, his voice low and grim. "We have no idea where those Horcruxes might be, or even how many there are, exactly. There might be three, might be four. Even Dumbledore wasn't sure, and he'd been trying to find out for years."

"There's Hufflepuff's cup," Hermione recited the list. "And Slytherin's locket, something of Ravenclaw or Gryffindor, and You-Know-Who's snake, Nagini."

"That's the most likely list," Harry said, nodding. He withdrew the fake locket, the one he and Dumbledore had found in the cave they'd visited just before Dumbledore's death. "Whoever R.A.B. was, he's the last person we know had the locket, and it said in the note he left in the locket that he'd be dead by the time Voldemort got back to this locket. I don't know if he destroyed it; I think Dumbledore felt he would have used the locket as a bargaining chip if he'd been confronted by Voldemort."

Hermione was staring into space, a look of concentration on her face. "How do we research such a thing as a Horcrux?" she wondered aloud. "There was only one reference in the entire Hogwarts library, and it just said the subject wasn't going to be discussed! How do you find out about something nobody wants to talk about?"

Ron looked at her. "You go where they do want to talk about it." She looked at him blankly for a moment, then comprehension dawned on her face.

"You don't mean we should go into Knockturn Alley?" she said, looking a little frightened.

"Knockturn Alley," Harry repeated. He remembered the first time he'd been there, when he'd first used the Floo Network and overshot his destination in Diagon Alley. He'd ended up in the fireplace at Borgin & Burkes, and had seen Draco Malfoy and his father in there as he'd hidden in a cabinet watching them talk to the proprietor, Mr. Borgin. They'd also followed Malfoy down that street last year and had watched him talk to Borgin about (they later found out) the Vanishing Cabinets, one of which was in Borgin's shop, the other one being at Hogwarts. Malfoy had found a way to repair the broken cabinet at Hogwarts and bring Death Eaters into the school. The result was an attack that left Ron's older brother Bill severely mauled, Dumbledore dead, and the future of the school uncertain. Knockturn Alley was dangerous, largely unknown to those who avoided delving into the Dark arts, and overall it was best steered clear of. But it was their best chance, Harry saw instinctively, of finding out the knowledge they needed.

"You aren't really seriously thinking about going in there, are you?" Hermione asked incredulously. At the look of resolve on Harry's face she exclaimed, "You _are_! Oh Harry, think of the risks involved! If anyone figures out we're looking for ways to destroy You-Know-Who —"

"We won't be going in there with "I'm Going to Destroy You-Know-Who" buttons pinned to our robes, will we?" Ron said sarcastically.

"Well, won't it be obvious from the questions we'll be asking?" Hermione said shrilly. " 'By the way, sir, you wouldn't happen to have anything on how to destroy Horcruxes, would you?' "

"Don't be thick —" Ron began.

"I'm _not_ being thick!" Hermione said angrily. "Ron, people aren't _stupid_! They're going to make connections when we – when _Harry_ – starts asking questions about Dark Arts. Remember last year, the _Daily Prophet_ kept writing about how Harry might be the Chosen One! People in the Dark Arts read the paper too, you know! They know he's supposed to be the one who'll kill You-Know-Who! They may want to kill him first, just on the off-chance it'll keep them safe!"

"But that's not going to stop me from killing Voldemort," Harry said quietly. Hermione winced again at the name, then looked at Harry with a fierce despair. It almost seemed as if she would cry.

"I know that!" she said, her voice trembling. "Oh, Harry, I am so afraid for you! It's that stupid prophecy! Why couldn't it have foretold that Professor Dumbledore was the one who would kill You-Know-Who, or somebody else… anyone else…" her voice trailed off as she put her face in her hands, sobbing silently.

Ron looked completely embarrassed, but Harry, who'd broken down in front of Hermione just a few minutes before, walked over and put his hands gently on her forearms, slowly pulling them away from her face. When she looked up into his eyes, her own shining with tears, he said, "I wish it could be that way, too," he said simply, with a small, bitter smile. "I would have had a lot better year at Hogwarts having you help me study for N.E.W.T.s, playing Quidditch with Ron and snogging Ginny between classes." Ron rolled his eyes but neither Harry nor Hermione noticed. She smiled, just a little bit; this heartened Harry and made him feel better about what he had to say next.

"I _have_ to go after Voldemort, you know," he went on, and while Hermione stopped smiling her tears were drying. "Whatever else life has in store for me, whatever else I may do, or not do, I have to see this through. _Not_ because it was foretold in some prophecy long ago, _not_ because people think I'm the Chosen One, not even because Dumbledore said I would be the one to do it, but because I think it is the right thing for me to do.

"At first, I didn't think you and Ron should be involved. It was too dangerous, I figured. You were both too important to me for me to ask you to risk your lives." Ron started to open his mouth to protest, but as one Harry and Hermione held out their hands to silence him. "But I need you. I need you both. You've helped me all these years, I really owe most of I've learned to you, Hermione. Without you I probably wouldn't have passed a single O.W.L.

"Ron's been my best mate practically since we met each other. We've seen each other through a lot; he and you have been more like family to me than my aunt and uncle ever were.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is, I can't be shut of you, so I hope you'll help me as much as you can, to do what needs to be done."

Hermione stared at Harry for several long moments, then flung herself into his arms, hugging him tightly. Letting go, she turned to Ron and ran into his arms, catching him off-guard in a fierce embrace. Looking over her shoulder, Ron gave Harry a slightly bewildered look, as if he hadn't quite caught up with them, but he finally smiled in thanks at Harry's words for him. Harry smiled in return.

Hermione released Ron then stepped away, holding his hand, and reached out for Harry's, who took hers. "We'll always remember this moment," she said softly, squeezing both their hands. "The moment we all agreed to fight – and to beat –" she took a deep breath – "Lord Voldemort."

Then they both turned and said, "Oh Ron, get a _grip_," as Ron flinched.

--

They all stayed up late that evening, talking about the upcoming wedding, Fred and George's newest joke developments, and what they'd heard Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were doing for the Order of the Phoenix. Ginny joined them after a while and they spent some time playing Exploding Snap until Mrs. Weasley, annoyed and trying to sleep in the early morning hours after a late night of getting the house ready for guests (Charley was due in from Romania Friday night as were Fleur and Gabrielle's parents, from France), chased Hermione and Ginny out of Ron's room and ordered them all to get some sleep.

Harry's sleep that night was dominated by a dream in which Harry approached Mr. Weasley, who asked if he was thinking of visiting them again. Harry snarled at him and ran into the garden, where the guests were gathered for the wedding, but it was Ron and Hermione who were being married, not Bill and Fleur. Ginny jumped up and told him to stop but he ran around her and began tearing at guests' clothes until Moody and Lupin yelled at him to stop. He leapt at them, the last he saw was their wands pointing at him –

There was a jolt and Harry found himself on the floor besides his bed. Harry blinked; the room was a dark blur, but he could hear Ron snoring on his bed a few feet away. Getting slowly to his feet, rubbing an elbow that had banged against the floor, Harry rolled back onto the camp bed, pulled the cover back over himself and fell back asleep.

The next day Harry and Ron had a lie-in, which annoyed Hermione and Ginny, who had to help Mrs. Weasley with the cleaning and garden decorations without their help while Fleur dashed about the house getting ready for her parents' arrival and annoying everyone else with nitpicking instructions that became shriller as the day wore on. By the early afternoon Harry and Ron gave up trying to play wizards' chess, snagged their brooms and went out to the paddock to practice some Quidditch just to be away from the house for a while.

A few hours later, tired and bored, they landed at the edge of the paddock and flopped on the ground to rest a bit. "You're getting better at Keeping, mate," Harry said, praising Ron's performance. "I only got two of the last ten shots I made."

"You made some really good shots too," Ron said, complimenting Harry in turn. "I really had to stretch for a couple of those."

"The ones you missed, you mean," Harry laughed, lying back on the ground. "Ouch!" he said as his elbow banged a rock.

"What happened?" Ron asked.

"Oh, nothing. I hit my elbow falling out of bed last night."

"You fell out of bed last night?" Ron said, surprised. "I thought I would have heard that."

"Your snoring probably drowned out the noise," Harry laughed, teasing him.

"So why'd you fall out, then? Were you having a dream or something?" Ron asked shrewdly. Harry hesitated. There _had_ been a dream, he remembered. He recounted it as best he remembered as Ron grew more and more concerned.

"Blimey," Ron said finally, after Harry had finished. "It almost sounds like you were seeing things through You-Know-Who's eyes again."

"It didn't feel like that," Harry disagreed. "It wasn't Voldemort, that's not his style. I felt – wilder, more out of control, than I do with him."

There was a shout from the house as Ginny yelled at them to come in for dinner, and Ron and Harry both stood. "Maybe you should tell Dad about your dream," Ron suggested as they walked back toward the Burrow.

"Nah," Harry dismissed the idea. "Your dad has loads more things to worry about than my dreams."

Ron said nothing, but he looked unhappy all the way back to the house.

Harry had the dream again that night, exactly as he had the night before, except that he didn't roll off the bed onto the floor when he woke at the end. What did make him start, though, was when he turned and saw Ron sitting on the side of his bed staring at him.

"What?" Harry asked, taken aback.

"You were growling in your sleep," Ron said. "You were having that dream again, weren't you?" he added in an almost accusing tone.

"Yeah, it was the same dream."

"I think we should tell Dad and Mum in the morning," Ron said flatly. "The same dream twice in a row means something, Harry."

"Maybe we should send it to Professor Trelawney so she can predict my death again," Harry said sarcastically.

"Maybe she would," Ron grumbled stubbornly. "But that doesn't mean it's not worth saying something about."

"Fine." Harry rolled back over and pulled the cover back over him. "Until then I'll be asleep, thank you very much."

"Fine!" Ron repeated, annoyed at Harry's attitude. He slid back under the covers himself. There was a long silence, then Ron said, "Harry."

"What?" Harry's voice filtered out from under his cover.

"I just don't want something bad to happen. You know?"

"I know. Let's get some sleep, we can tell your mum and dad in the morning."

Only moments later, it seemed to Harry, he was being roused by Ron urging him to get a move on and get up so they could talk to Mr. Weasley before he left for work. Harry rolled blearily out of his bed, putting on a pair of slippers, and he and Ron padded down the twisty steps to the Burrow's kitchen where Ron's parents greeted them with some surprise.

"Well, this is unusual!" Mrs. Weasley said, looking at them almost in shock. "You two up before lunch? Will wonders never cease?" With a chuckle she set to fixing each of them a plate of eggs, sausages and toast.

"Good morning, boys!" Mr. Weasley beamed at them as he polished off the last of his own breakfast. "Nice to see you up this early for a change. The ghoul didn't wake you up, did he?" There was a ghoul in the Burrow's attic; it had become annoyed with the high level of activity in the house lately, and had taken to throwing things around in the attic at odd hours of the day and night.

"No, haven't heard him for a while," Ron muttered sleepily. "Dad, can we have a word before you go?"

"Certainly, certainly?" Mr. Weasley looked at both of them. "What's up?" Harry looked at Ron who made a gesture to go ahead. Harry retold the details of his dream to Mr. Weasley who listened with growing interest.

Finally, when Harry was done, he said, "Interesting. Same dream two days in a row, eh? It's strange that it's you doing those things in the dream, Harry. I don't expect you plan on disrupting the wedding tomorrow, do you?"

"No, sir," Harry said emphatically.

Mrs. Weasley, who had stopping to listen to Harry recount his dream, now put a plate in front of him and Ron each and said worriedly to Mr. Weasley, "Arthur, you know quite of few of Harry's dreams have come true in some way. It may not be him, but I feel _something's_ going to happen tomorrow myself."

Mr. Weasley looked thoughtful. "I'm inclined to trust your instincts as well as Harry's dreams, m'dear." He rose and gathered up his things for work, gave Mrs. Weasley a peck and turned to Harry. "I'm glad you told us, Harry. We can take a few precautions for the wedding, I'm sure it's better to be safe than sorry. Bye, Molly dear." Mr. Weasley hurried out past the garden gate and Apparated to work.

Behind Harry, Mrs. Weasley laid a hand gently on Harry's shoulder. "Harry, dear," she said quietly, "Arthur and I appreciate you letting us know when things like this happen. And it's probably nothing," she said with an airy wave of her hand that didn't fool Harry a bit. "Just a bit of restlessness in the heat. Nothing to worry about, I'm sure." She turned back to her cooking, but Harry saw in her sudden quietness and the slump of her shoulders that Mrs. Weasley was worried about the wedding.

At the table, Ron had pushed away his plate and was yawning and stretching mightily. "We may as well turn back in for a while," he said to Harry. "Charlie will be in later tonight – I can't wait to hear what he's been about off in Romania." He started to get up but Mrs. Weasley had spun around and fixed him with a stern look.

"You'll be off to some chores I have for you, Ronald Bilius Weasley!" She smiled at Harry. "If you're still tired, Harry, you can lie in a while longer – I'll have Ron wake you up for lunch."

Ron had wilted back into his chair, but Harry looked at him gamely and said, "I'm not sleepy any more, Mrs. Weasley. I can help Ron.

"Right, then. _Accio Chores List_!" Mrs. Weasley said, flicking her wand toward the doorway. A moment later a scroll of parchment flew into the room and into her hand. "We can start with you raking out the yard…"

It was well into the afternoon before they finished with the jobs Mrs. Weasley had lined up for them. Ron grumbled a bit at having to clean up the yard and de-gnome the garden for the wedding, but Harry didn't mind the work – it distracted him for a time from thinking about what he'd be doing after the wedding – and from worrying about what might happen at his or Hermione and Ron's hearings. Mrs. Weasley brought them chilled pumpkin juice while they worked, and just as they'd finished the last of the de-gnoming she called them in for dinner. They both ate as if starved, alone in the kitchen as Hermione, Ginny and the Delacour girls had eaten an hour earlier. Then Mrs. Weasley shooed them out of the kitchen so she could begin supper, which she complained would take her the rest of the day since she was feeding "practically an army this evening," as she put it.

Ron and Harry disappeared up into Ron's room where they both collapsed on their beds, satiated and feeling rather torpid in the midday heat. Ron finally suggested a game of wizards' chess and he and Harry played for a while, listening to the thuds and banging from the attic as the ghoul stomped about and knocked over things, annoyed by intermittent giggling and laughter from Ginny's room where Hermione and Ginny were dressing Gabrielle in different clothes.

"Have you ever gone up and had a look?" Harry asked, looking up at the ceiling as the ghoul stomped particularly hard after a burst of laughter from Ginny's room.

Ron shrugged. Harry noticed he was avoiding Harry's gaze. "You're not still afraid of it, are you?" he asked shrewdly.

"Me? Naw," Ron dismissed the idea. "It's harmless, and Mum likes that it keeps the moth population down."

"Shall we go have a look, then?" Harry asked, partly from boredom (Ron was winning the game, as usual) and partly from curiosity as well as enjoying the opportunity to make Ron squirm. Ron looked up at him quickly.

"A look? It's just a ruddy _ghoul_, Harry." But there was a hint of alarm in his eyes, Harry thought. "But, I suppose we can take a peek, if you insist –"

"Oy! Ron! Harry!" Ginny's voice came up the stairwell. "Charlie's here!" The game and the ghoul forgotten, they scrambled to their feet and ran down the steps to see Ron's second oldest brother who was in from Romania, where he worked with dragons. Ginny was hanging on him as he greeted Hermione and Gabrielle and gave Fleur a small hug. Seeing Ron and Harry he turned to them.

"Hey, Ron," Charlie said, putting an arm around Ron's shoulders. Ron was as tall as Charlie now. "Hi Harry." They shook hands. "Are you two holding your own around here with a houseful of women?"

"Charlie!" Ginny squealed reproachfully. "They haven't done hardly a thing all week to help!"

"Oh you liar," Ron retorted. "We've been out roasting in the yard all day cleaning up while you were playing dress-up with Gabrielle!"

"We did loads of work this morning, I'll have you know, Ron," Hermione said tartly, walking over to join them. "We got rooms cleaned and ready for everyone staying here tonight and helped your mother prepare some vegetables for tonight's meal."

"So where am I staying?" Charlie asked, looked at Ginny.

"We fixed you up in Percy's bedroom," Ginny said, looking at Hermione.

"Ah," Charlie said, noting the glance that passed between Ron and Harry as well as his younger sister and Hermione. "And how is brother Percy these days?"

"Still the world's biggest prat," Ron muttered darkly.

"Ron, no more of that!" Mrs. Weasley, who'd just come into the room, snapped at him. "Oh, Charlie!" she cried, hugging her second son, then looking at his rough, bruised hands, she chided him, "Haven't you found anyone to settle down with and take care of you yet?"

"Not yet, Mum," Charlie laughed, pinching her cheek playfully. "You're still my best girl, you know." She giggled like a schoolgirl and behind her, Ron stuck his finger in his throat, miming gagging. Charlie chuckled then asked his mother, "When's Dad supposed to get home?"

"Any time now," she said, looking at the grandfather clock standing against the wall. Instead of having two hands for the time, it had nine, one for each member of the Weasley family, and instead of numbers, there were inscriptions around the face that said things such as "home," "school," "work," "traveling," or even, at the very top, "mortal peril." At the moment Mr. Weasley's hand was pointing at "work."

"He said he would try to be home as early as he could," Mrs. Weasley said, looking back at Charlie. "I hope he hurries, I want him to be home before Bill and Fleur or her parents get here."

Bill arrived a few minutes later, cheerful but tired from a long week at work. He hugged his mother and Ginny, slapped Charlie and Ron on the back, and shook Harry's hand. Harry noticed his face, while no longer looking raw, still bore deep scars from Fenrir Greyback's attack of a few weeks ago. He gave Harry a wink then went off to find Fleur.

Mr. Weasley arrived and was greeted by his wife and the others in the Burrow's living room. "I thought we were never going to get done," he said, somewhat irritably, giving his wife a kiss in greeting and putting away his briefcase. "Scrimgeour's got all departments giving detailed reports of each week's activities. Fortunately, Allerby agreed to cover for me so I could make it home early." He looked around the living room. "Are the Delacours here yet?"

"Not yet," Mrs. Weasley answered. "Bill got here a just a few minutes ago, he's with Fleur right now. Arthur, can I have a word with you? In the kitchen." Mrs. Weasley walked out of the room.

"Yes, dear." But before walking into the kitchen, Mr. Weasley turned to Harry and said in a low voice, "We're also having a special guest for dinner, Harry, he'll be here in a little while."

"Who?" Harry asked at once.

"You'll see," Mr. Weasley said mysteriously. "Got to run." And he hurried into the kitchen as well, leaving Harry mildly annoyed. Why wouldn't people just say things straight out to him rather than being secretive about it?

By the time Mr. and Mrs. Delacour showed up, Harry's stomach was getting a bit rumbly even though he'd been stuffed after dinner. They were an interesting couple: her mother, part veela, was strikingly beautiful, with the same silvery-blonde hair as Fleur and ice-blue eyes with only a hint of age within them. Her husband, however, was short and very plump, with black hair and a little pointed beard. They greeted Fleur and Gabrielle enthusiastically, then each member of the Weasley family in turn, with Fleur's mother kissing each of them on both cheeks. Harry noticed that Mr. Weasley was touching his cheek bemusedly after her greeting, and that Mrs. Weasley was eyeing him with an expression somewhere between amusement and suspicion.

Introductions had finally come around to Harry. "And this," Mr. Weasley said proudly, stepping up to him, "is my son Ron's friend Harry Potter."

At the mention of his name both of them raised an eyebrow. "Ah, 'Arry Potter!" Fleur's father said, shaking his hand. "Fleur 'as said that you wair a friend of Bill's brothair. An 'onor to meet you."

Fleur's mother smiled warmly at him and kissed both of his cheeks. "And Gabrielle 'as mentioned you to us as well," she said softly, her voice a silvery croon. "She is quite taken weeth you, I theenk."

"Er – thank you," Harry said, nodding, not knowing what else to say. He felt a bit giddy, and the last words of Mrs. Delacour were still ringing in his brain.

"Well," Mr. Weasly said, guiding the couple toward the garden. "You've arrived at just the right moment, everything is ready to eat."

The others followed, but Harry stayed rooted to the spot. He felt a bit giddy, and the last words of Mrs. Delacour were still ringing in his brain. He didn't move until a knee hit the back of his leg, almost toppling him over. It was Ginny, who'd stayed behind, watching him.

"Come on, lover boy," she said with a smirk. "Time to eat."

"Um," said Harry distractedly, embarrassed at being caught. "I was just – just –"

"Just come on, then," Ginny said, not sounding so much annoyed as amused. "It's not like I haven't caught Ron staring at Fleur loads of times. It's that veela blood."

Dinner was being held outside, as was usual when there were a large number of guests at the Burrow during the summer months. They had arranged the tables in rows similar to the Great Hall at Hogwarts. Mrs. Weasley had prepared a feast of roasted chicken and ham, bowls of boiled and mashed potatoes as well as cauliflower and corn, platters of rolls and boats of steaming gravy, with platters of celery and carrots and radishes for condiments. Harry sat next to Ron and Hermione, and tucked into his food with gusto. Fleur was talking excitedly with her parents, conversing rapidly in French while Bill listened politely. Harry couldn't tell if Bill knew what she was saying or not. Hermione, however, was sighing as she listened to Fleur.

"I swear," she finally said, annoyed. "You'd think the whole world revolved around her, honestly."

"You understand her?" Harry asked, surprised. "You never told me you could speak French!"

"_Vous ne m'avez jamais demandé si je pourrais parler français_, Harry," Hermione replied smoothly. "I've just never had much reason to speak it at Hogwarts."

Just then the door of the Burrow opened and a thin, shabbily dressed figure walked into the back yard. Mr. Weasley looked over and gave a wave. "Ah, our mystery guest has arrived!" he said, standing up to join the new arrival. He walked the man over where the Delacours were sitting. "Mr. and Mrs. Delacour, I'd like to introduce you to a good friend of ours, Remus Lupin, from London. Remus, this is Pierre and Apolline Delacour, of Lyons, France." Remus and Mr. Delacour shook hands.

Remus spared a glance towards Harry, who nodded. Ron leaned over and whispered, "D'you think Dad told Remus about your dream, Harry?"

"I'm sure he did," Harry muttered in reply.

"What dream?" Hermione asked, surprised. "You never said anything to me about a dream."

"I just told Ron's dad this morning." Harry briefly told her the dream. She stared at him in a mixture of concern and annoyance.

"And you didn't think that was significant?" she snapped at him.

"It only happened twice before I mentioned it!" Harry retorted. He looked over at Lupin; Mr. Weasley had seated him near the Delacours and Bill was passing him platters of food while he loaded his plate sparingly. Harry went back to cleaning his own plate.

The dinner finished with fresh strawberry shortcake. Ron and Harry both had seconds, then sat back and listened to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley chat with the Delacours about the weeks of preparation for tomorrow's nuptials until a hand fell on Harry's shoulder. It was Lupin.

"May I have a word, Harry?" Lupin asked. Harry nodded and with a look at Ron and Hermione he followed his old Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher a short distance away to talk. Harry thought Lupin looked even more tired, more gray and more shabby than the last time Harry had seen him, only a week ago. Lupin turned to face Harry, and his eyes seemed sadder and older than ever. He studied Harry a moment before asking, "How've you been since school ended, Harry?"

"I've been better," Harry said with a plaintive smile.

Lupin managed a chuckle. "I daresay so, with the Ministry on your back and next school year looking so uncertain!" His look turned serious. "We're working on the Ministry problem, we can talk about it next week when we know more, but for now this dream of yours is a concern. Arthur told me the main points, but I'd like to hear the details from you. What happens in your dream?"

Harry told him about meeting Mr. Weasley, snarling at him, then running into the garden where the guests were gathered and slashing and tearing at them, even Ginny, until Moody and Lupin told him to stop, and leaping at them while their wands were pointed at him.

Lupin listened closely, and when Harry finished he asked, "Did you ever look at yourself or notice any part of you while in the dream?"

Harry thought carefully. "No."

"Do you remember how you came into the garden?" Lupin asked.

"From the back. I remember seeing the backs of people as I came up to them," Harry remembered. "I ran all the way to the front where the wedding party was. I remember –" Harry hesitated at this recollection – "I remember seeing Ron and Hermione where the bride and groom should be, instead of Bill and Fleur."

Lupin was silent for several seconds. "Do you remember seeing yourself in the wedding party?"

This question baffled Harry. "No. Why would I see myself, Professor Lupin, if I was the one running up the aisle?"

Instead of answering Lupin asked another question. "Do you remember seeing Bill in the wedding party?" Harry closed his eyes, concentrating on remembering his dream.

"I – I seem to," he said a minute later. "He was standing next to Ron."

"Who else was standing there?" Lupin pressed him.

The images in his head were fuzzy, indistinct, but Harry could just make out the others. "Charlie was there, next to Bill, then Fred and George. And then –" Harry frowned, remembering. "That's weird. Ron is standing next to George. But he's not looking at me, he's looking the other way, away from the wedding party. And his mouth is open, like he's saying or shouting something. Then I turn and leap at you and Moody and everything goes dark." Harry opened his eyes. "So what do you think it means, Professor? Do you think I'll go nutty and attack people at the wedding tomorrow?" He watched Lupin closely to gauge his reaction.

But Lupin only gazed at Harry for long seconds, apparently thinking over these last details. "Oh, I doubt you'd do anything like that, Harry," he said at last. "Willingly or unwillingly. You have a good measure of resistance to the Imperius Curse, you know." Harry nodded; even Voldemort had had difficulty trying to order Harry against his will.

"What I want you to do," Lupin told him, speaking softly but intently. "Is to get a good night's rest, and if you have the dream again tonight to let Mr. Weasley know immediately when you wake up. Will you do that?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, Professor."

"Good man," Lupin said, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Now I have to be getting back to Grimmauld Place, I have some things to take care of that can't wait. But I look forward to seeing you tomorrow, Harry. Moody, Tonks and I will be here, and I'm sure Professor McGonagall has been invited as well. She was quite fond of Bill when he was at Hogwarts."

Harry nodded again, and Lupin turned and walked away, stopping for a moment to lean over and whisper something in Mr. Weasley's ear. Mr. Weasley nodded, and Lupin straightened and Disapparated.

Rejoining Ron and Hermione, Harry told them about the conversation. Both were silent for a few moments, and then Ron said dubiously, "Didn't seem to be much help, did he?"

"No," Harry agreed at once. "First thing I thought myself. If he had any ideas he's kept them to himself."

"Maybe he doesn't," Hermione argued. "And that's why he's going back to Grimmauld Place, to talk about it with other Order members."

"Well maybe he should have taken me along then," Harry pointed out, irritated. "Since I _am_ the one who was having the dreams in the first place!"

"It's not that simple," Hermione said, exasperated. "You need to be here tomorrow to get ready. You're in the _wedding party_, Harry!"

There was no point in arguing with her. Ginny had started clearing the tables, and they pitched in and helped. They even helped wash and dry the dishes, as the living room conversation was now being dominated by the Delacours' reminiscences about Fleur's accomplishments at Beauxbatons Academy.

They stole away afterwards to Ron's room where they played a very quiet version of Exploding Snap until Fred and George showed up, having grown tired of listening to Mrs. Delacour gushing over her daughters. "I didn't think it could happen," Fred muttered glumly, "But when listening to Mum talk about Percy gets to be more interesting than a half-veela, it's time to do a runner." The Exploding Snap game expanded by two. After a while the twins tried to engage Harry about the dream; apparently news had traveled. Harry caught Ron looking at him guiltily as Fred and George quizzed him for details, but let it pass. He told them what he'd told their father and Lupin, and what little he'd gotten in return, and they passed the time abusing adults for wanting complete details but being unwilling to give them in return. At some point Ginny joined them and the game expanded again, and the rest of the evening was passed in relative silence except for the sound of exploding cards and small talk until Hermione noted the time and headed for bed, which broke up the card game for the evening. Fred and George elected to travel back to their shop in Diagon Alley rather than bed down with Ron and Harry, and Ginny followed Hermione back to their room, although not without a furtive look at Harry that he almost missed. He and Ron changed into pajama bottoms and T-shirts and bunked down for the night.

Harry's dream that night was not like the ones from the previous nights. Like the others, he was approaching the Burrow, only this time from a different direction, coming around from the side of the house rather than from the back. He could hear his own breathing; it was raspy and coarse, although he did not feel winded or tired. He could see the lattice the wedding party would be standing in front of, and crouched low to stay out of sight. He moved slowly along the ground, getting closer to where the wedding party would be, and as the party came into view he saw…himself, standing next to Ron. He crept closer and closer, his breathing growing louder and louder in his ears until it seemed as he (the "he" that was standing in front of himself) must hear it. He paused, gathering himself, and leapt at the figure in front of him –

And his eyes snapped open in the darkness. His breath was coming fast, as it had in his dream. Harry paused, forcing himself to be calm, and listened to Ron's breathing. It was regular and soft, sounding very much like normal sleep. The first rays of light were beginning to filter in through the window.

Soon the whole house was abuzz with wedding day activity. While the women jockeyed and argued and vied for the use of the main bath, Harry and Ron used one of the upstairs bathrooms, alternating turns, until they were both clean and ready to get dressed. Their dress robes had been carefully pressed and hung in the closet; Harry was loathe to get dressed more than an hour or so before the wedding was to take place, and especially not before eating, but breakfast looked like a lost cause this morning. He and Ron had been down to the kitchen, but Mrs. Weasley had shooed them out saying that she would call when there was something to eat.

But breakfast time had come and gone, and there had been no announcement. Finally, they crept back downstairs to the kitchen. Mrs. Weasley, seeing them again, gasped. "Oh no!" she cried apologetically. "Harry, Ron, I'm so sorry! I forgot to call up for you!" She bustled around the kitchen, frantically grabbing a few items for them. "I've got some pieces of toast for your father, you and Harry can have them."

No sooner had they bitten into them than Mr. Weasley ran into the kitchen fastening the top of his dress robe. "Did you make my toast, dear?" he asked Mrs. Weasley, who sighed noisily. "I'll have some more in a second, Arthur!" With a flick of her wand the bread knife cut two more slices off the half-loaf sitting on the counter; the two pieces then floated over and into the oven.

"Molly!" Mrs. Delacour's voice floated in from Mr. Weasley's office, which she was using as Fleur's dressing room. "Do you 'ave some pins I can use for Fleur's dress? It needs to be taken up a bit."

"I swear," Mrs. Weasley said through her teeth. "She can be as bad as her daughter…"

Ron nudged Harry. "Let's go find the lucky groom," he said softly. "There's bound to be more sanity there than anywhere else in this house this morning." He was mostly right. Bill, Charlie, George and Fred were jammed into Percy's old bedroom on the second floor. Bill and Charlie were discussing Bill's latest curse-breaking activities while Fred and George listened raptly. "Hey, gents," George said as they entered the room. "Make it through the mine field?"

"I wonder if Mum and Dad'll pay me to elope," Ron said, looking back toward the door. "It's a ruddy madhouse down there."

"It's not too bad," Bill put in. "I've been in some weddings where nobody seemed to have a clue what was going on. Not even me," he added, smiling.

"I was in one," Charlie remembered, "where the bride was _four hours late_ getting ready, and one of the bridesmaids was caught snogging the best man in a broom shed while they were rounding everyone up once she was ready. What was even better," he said, as everyone began laughing, "was that one of the other groomsmen, a mate of the groom who had a crush on the bride, was holding the ring for the groom, and he turned it into a Portkey with the trigger 'I do!' When the groom put it on her finger during the ceremony and said 'I do,' they both disappeared!"

"Where'd they end up?" Bill asked, wiping tears from his eyes.

"We never did find out," Charlie guffawed. "The groom's mate never told and I never got to ask the bride where they got off to. I assume they both enjoyed it, though." He smiled wickedly. "I expect her parents weren't too pleased, since they never actually finished the wedding before they disappeared. But a mutual friend mentioned to me that they did get married again on their first anniversary."

They continued to swap stories until Mr. Weasley stuck his head in the door and announced, "We're ready out here. You ready, son?"

"As I'll ever be," Bill said quietly. They all stood as Mr. Weasley came into the room, giving Bill a quick once-over with his eyes and unnecessarily straightening his collar.

"This is a great day for you, Bill," Mr. Weasley said proudly. "A joyous day for us all."

"Except for Mum," Bill said with a grin, running a hand over his hair. "She still wants to give me a bob."

Mr. Weasley chuckled. "She'll come round, you'll see. And you may as well enjoy it while you've got it," he said a bit ruefully, patting his own, balding head. He regarded Bill a moment, then embraced him in a quick hug. Charlie and Ron smiled, while Fred and George looked at each other and both said "awwwww." Mr. Weasley, not at all abashed by this, let go of Bill and said "Let's go, then," his eyes bright with emotion. He opened the door and waved them all out. As Harry passed him Mr. Weasley said in a low voice, "Anything you need to tell me this morning, Harry?"

Harry thought of his dream and what he'd promised, but for some reason he felt it would unnecessarily worry Mr. Weasley and he merely shook his head. Mr. Weasley smiled and said, "Good! Well, off you go, then."

They filed out of the house and in front of the flower-covered lattice, with Bill taking his place closest to the center and Charlie beside him, followed closely by Fred, George, Ron and lastly, Harry. Rows of folding chairs had been set up and were now nearly filled with guests of the bride and groom waiting for the ceremony to begin.

There was quite an assortment of people here, Harry saw, looking out over the guests. He recognized Professor Flitwick, barely visible among the taller people surrounding him, and saw Professor McGonagall moving up the aisle to take a chair about halfway back. Harry craned his neck to see the rest of the chairs on the groom's side; he was almost hidden behind a ill-placed shrub which was blocking much of his view. If Lupin or Moody were here they were undoubtedly near the back – no one he knew was near him among the guests and he didn't know anyone on the bride's side except her mother, who was seated along the front row along with some other family members who had arrived at the Burrow this morning.

The justice of the peace arrived and joined the wedding party, standing in front of Bill between where he and Fleur would stand. Harry saw to his surprise that it was the same little tufty-haired man who had given the eulogy at Dumbledore's funeral. He nodded to Bill, who smiled in return, then turned back to the aisle that Fleur would soon walk down. The bridesmaids were now along the front on the other side: Gabrielle, Hermione and Ginny, each with a bouquet of roses in their hands. Harry wondered how lopsided this looked to the guests, since there were only three on the bride's side but five on the groom's. Soft music had begun playing, Harry didn't remember it starting, but it blended with and softened the mutters and whispers of the guests into a low drone that was at least better than dead silence.

After several more minutes of waiting, Harry started to check his watch, realized he didn't have one on, and muttered to Ron, "What time is it?"

"It's twenty after ten," Ron said at once. "Figured she'd be late."

"Let's just hope Charlie hasn't jinxed her wedding ring," Harry said with a smirk.

Ron gave him a look with raised eyebrows. "Why not?"

Harry snorted. Ten minutes later, the waiting was becoming almost unendurable when the music suddenly changed to the familiar "Wedding March" and everyone stood, which unfortunately obscured Harry's view of Fleur and her father beginning their walk down the aisle. He turned slightly, watching to faces of the others in the wedding party. Ginny and Hermione were beaming, Ginny especially so, Harry thought. Both of them, and Gabrielle as well, paradoxically looked happy and tearful at the same time. Bill, even though his face was scarred, still wore an easy smile, while Charlie grinned happily beside him. Fred and George were appraising some of the younger women among the guests, all of whom were turned to watch Fleur and her father's walk up the aisle. Ron, Harry saw, was doing pretty much what Harry himself was: enduring the situation.

Finally as Fleur and her father neared the front, Harry saw her and her wedding dress. It, and she, both looked exquisite. Her dress was shimmering white, with elaborate embroidery and a long train that was being held up by twittering birds flying along behind her. Ron saw them too at the same moment and could resist turning to Harry with a snicker. They finally reached the front and Bill offered Fleur his arm, which she accepted, and they stood side by side in front of the tufty-headed man, who waited for the music to end and asked the guests to be seated.

"Greetings to all the friends and family of the bride and groom," he began, in a voice oddly reminiscent of Professor Flitwick's. "We are gathered joyfully to celebrate the joining of Fleur Isabelle Delacour and William Arthur Weasley in faithful union…"

A feeling crept unbidden into Harry's head, an instinct that something was wrong. He wondered for a moment if he was going to be overcome with an impulse to run through the crowd tearing at people, but that was foolishness. In his dreams he had been at the back of the crowd, not at the front. But just then, as if in response to his sudden premonition, a commotion seemed to erupt at the far end of the garden. He heard Mr. Weasley say loudly, "See here! You can just barge in like this –" There was a flash of red and Mr. Weasley's shout was suddenly cut off.

Everyone turned toward the back of the garden. Several people stood up, then everyone. Before they did, Harry caught a glimpse of several men moving forward through the aisles, each of them wearing hats – oddly familiar hats. Why did the hats seem familiar? They were pushing people out of the way, and while Lupin and McGonagall reacted quickly with Stunning Spells, they were oddly ineffective. Harry's hand went to his wand, as did everyone else in the wedding party except for Gabrielle, but even as he did Harry knew that something wasn't right. In his last dream, the attack had not come from the back, but from the side, which he was now facing away from.

Harry turned and was suddenly face-to-face with a dark-cloaked figure who had come up, silently, behind him. His arms were outstretched, as if to engulf Harry; there was a wild, fierce expression in his glowing, yellow eyes. Incongruously, he wore the same oddly-familiar hat as the other men who were attacking from the opposite direction. Harry's wand came up instinctively as he started to shout "Stupefy!" but at the last he suddenly recognized the hat – and the man – and Harry's shout changed in mid-word to "Sectumsempra!" as he slashed upward, then downward again in the opposite direction.

Two long, deep gashes appeared across the man's chest and throat. He stopped in mid-stride only a foot from Harry, clutching at the wounds, and fell to the ground. Almost no one had witnessed this – the shrub in front of Harry had obscured him from most of the guests. Harry took a step closer to the man, keeping his wand pointed at the man's coarse, rangy face, which he'd recognized at the last moment. It was Fenrir Greyback, the werewolf who had been with Snape, Malfoy and the other Death Eaters on the Astronomy Tower when Snape murdered Dumbledore.

"Clever boy," Greyback rasped, his voice gurgling as blood bubbled out of his neck and chest onto the ground around him. "Didn't think you had it in you to use that spell again."

Lupin and McGonagall both rushed up, "Oh my goodness!" McGonagall exclaimed as she saw Greyback sprawled on the ground, blood pumping from his wounds. Lupin simply stared at him, his eyes wide but his mouth set in a thin, hard line.

Greyback saw Lupin as well. "Remus, my boy," he said, his voice growing fainter as blood poured out of him. "I'm glad to see a friendly face," he chuckled: short, barking sounds that were punctuated with spurts of blood from his throat. "Did you teach Potter that spell? The Dark Lord would be proud… of you…" His head fell back and he stopped breathing.

Lupin looked at Harry with a mixture of awe and horror. "Do you know what you've just done, Harry? You've just killed Fenrir Greyback!"


	4. Aftermath

Chapter Four

**AFTERMATH**

For several minutes chaos and confusion reigned as Lupin and McGonagall held back guests who pressed forward, trying to catch a glimpse of Greyback while other guests screamed or ran about shouting to everyone about the killing. Fred and George helped form a rough circle around the corpse, while Bill and Fleur went around calming everyone down. Harry was still staring down at Greyback's face, now motionless in death.

"H-Harry?" Ron hesitated, not sure what to do, while Harry stared in horror at the man he had just killed. Ron looked around at his mother: she was at the back door of the Burrow, frantically signaling him to get Harry and come into the house. "Harry, let's get inside. Lupin and McGonagall will handle it."

A familiar figure came into view: Kingsley Shacklebolt stepped around Harry and knelt beside the body, touching Greyback's neck lightly with two fingers to check for a pulse. After a few moments, he took out his wand and passed it over the body a few times, then nodded, apparently satisfied. Standing he looked at Harry for a moment, then turned to Ron and Hermione. "Ron, listen," he said quietly in his low voice. "Have your father contact the Ministry. I'm going to do the same. It will look better if he appears to have thought of it on his own."

"It sounded like Dad was stunned, earlier," Ron said, his voice as dry as dust.

"He was, but your mother gave him the countercurse. Go on." Ron nodded curtly and hurried off.

Shacklebolt looked at Harry. "Can you hear me, Harry?"

Harry nodded slowly. Shacklebolt's voice seemed far away, surreal. Everything had become unreal since he watched Greyback's blood pouring from his neck and chest; it had reminded him of the wounds on the face and chest of Draco Malfoy, when Harry had used _Sectumsempra_ on him a few months ago. It had nearly killed him; if Snape had not found them in time to treat the wounds and get Malfoy to Madame Pomfrey, his blood would have been on Harry's hands as well as Greyback's.

"Go in the house with Miss Granger," Shacklebolt said to him, kindly but firmly. "Other Aurors will be coming soon. They need to ask you questions about this. You should be calm and prepared to answer them."

Harry looked up at Shacklebolt, a strange expression in his eyes. "Answer? What's to answer? I k-killed him," he said flatly.

"Harry—!" Hermione began, but Shacklebolt stopped her.

"You were defending yourself, no?" he said quietly, leaning close to Harry.

"I killed him," Harry repeated. "I killed him." Shacklebolt stood up, eyeing Harry with both concern and annoyance.

"I got him," a voice growled quietly out of nowhere, making Harry start. It was Moody's voice, he knew, but he hadn't seen the ex-Auror anywhere around before the ceremony started. Shacklebolt nodded and turned away.

"Come on, Potter," Moody's voice said briskly. "Let's get you inside. Miss Granger, take his other arm."

Hermione was looking around, confused as much as Harry, but then one of his arms jerked slightly, and she took hold of the other one. Harry didn't resist as they led him through the back door of the Burrow and into the kitchen. They maneuvered him into one of the chairs around the scrubbed table.

Moody muttered "_Finite_," and his Disillusionment Charm ended, revealing the retired Auror. Despite the warmth of the day he was dressed in a knee-length coat and heavy pants. He regarded Harry evenly with his one good eye. The other eye, the magical one with the vivid blue pupil, was spinning wildly in its socket, ever vigilant.

Hermione started to pull out a chair as well, but Moody put out a hand to stop her. "Give Potter an' me a few minutes, Miss Granger."

She looked indignant. "Why shouldn't I stay? Harry needs his friends right now –"

"No doubt," Moody growled. "But I need a few minutes with him as well, so scoot." He jerked a thumb at the back door. "Go help get the guests settled back down."

Hermione looked mutinous, but finally gave in and stalked out without a word, pausing only long enough to give him a dirty look before slamming the door behind her. Moody smiled crookedly, then turned back to Harry.

"So," he said. "What do you think?"

The question threw Harry for a second. "About what?" he asked, irritated. Didn't Moody realize what Harry had just done? Was he that insensitive to what had just happened?

"You just killed a man," Moody replied in a low growl. "What d'you think about that? Do you feel anything at all? Happy? Upset? Sick? Angry?"

"Why would I be happy about something like that?" Harry said loudly, outrage in his voice.

"I just wondered if that had whetted your appetite for killing," Moody replied, watching Harry with appraising eyes.

Harry buried his face in his hands. The only thing he felt now was revulsion – revulsion for himself, for what he'd done to another living being, even someone like Greyback, and the feeling in his stomach was overpowering him. He leaned forward and vomited violently onto the kitchen floor, watching as his breakfast splattered the table, chairs, and his and Moody's robes.

Moody stared down at the sick on the floor, on his robe, and looked back at Harry. "Good," was all he said, waving his wand and making the spatters disappear. "Glad to see that you didn't enjoy your first taste of killing.

"I threw up the first time I killed a man, too," Moody added quietly, with an expression that was neither hostile nor overly friendly. He pointed his wand at the vomit and muttered under his breath. The vomit vanished, leaving the floor and their robes clean.

Harry stared at the floor for some time, feeling sick and revolted with himself, while Moody looked on. Moody finally smiled crookedly and leaned back in his chair. "Me an' Dumbledore were friends for quite a few years. I knew him, of course, ever since I started at Hogwarts. And we cross ed paths quite a few times after I became an Auror. Especially after Voldemort came onto the scene. He even helped me get _this_," Moody pointed to his electric blue eye, even now spinning rapidly in its socket.

"As much attention as Dumbledore's been payin' you in the last couple of years," Moody finished, "I figure he's been getting you ready for something.

"What?" Harry said, still looking down, not wanting to give anything away.

Moody chuckled. "What I might know, or guess, isn't important. Dumbledore pretty much always told me what I needed to know, and no more. I figger that's good enough for me an' you, too. Deal?"

Harry nodded.

"Right, then. Now listen, Potter," Moody said, leaning forward to speak quietly to Harry. "We ain't got much time. You were right to use that spell – Greyback would've carried you off if he could've, to bring you to Voldemort or infect you like he infected Lupin. Don't let anyone tell you different. It's not an Unforgivable Curse, however unpopular it may be."

"What's going to happen next?" Harry looked up, leaning on the table and steepling his fingers in front of him.

"The Aurors'll question you about the attack. They may want to rattle you a bit to see if you change your story. Jus' remain calm an' stick to the facts. After they question the other werewolves –"

"Werewolves?" Harry said, started. "Those other men were _werewolves_?"

"Yeah, Greyback prefers 'em to any other kind of Dark wizard, even Death Eaters," Moody growled. "Once the Aurors get their story we might have some clue about what Voldemort knows about this."

"Do you think Voldemort might have had something to do with this attack?" Harry asked. It was refreshing to speak with someone who didn't flinch every time the word "Voldemort" was spoken.

"Dunno," Moody said, scratching his chin pensively. "For now, just tell the Aurors your story an' stick to the facts. I'm gonna go an' make sure nobody like your friend Granger mentions my name to 'em – I want to have a listen to some of their conversations and it won't do to have 'em thinking I'm about. Mind yourself, Potter." And with that Moody tapped his head with his wand, muttering "_Illusio_," and faded from view. "Get the door for me, willya?" his voice said.

The Ministry Aurors arrived shortly after Harry and Moody's talk. Refreshingly, they handled themselves quite professionally, although Harry didn't enjoy telling his version of the attack three different times to different Aurors. Most of the guests were questioned and released quickly; the crowd milling about in the backyard and garden of the Burrow diminished rapidly. The three men who had helped Greyback in the attack were questioned shortly then whisked away, presumably to Ministry headquarters, Harry thought.

Harry, Hermione and Ron were sitting in a section of empty chairs quietly discussing what the Aurors had asked each of them when Bill and Fleur came out of the back door, now dressed in traveling clothes, and walked over to them.

"They're through with us, finally," Bill said cheerfully, stopping in front of Ron but addressing all three of them. "Fleur and I are taking off for a few days in Europe. You three are the last ones to say goodbye to. Thanks for being in our wedding, it was certainly a very enjoyable – and memorable – experience."

They stood, and Ron reached out to shake his brother's hand, but Bill chuckled and pulled him into a hug, embarrassing Ron. "See you later, little brother," Bill said, releasing him. He turned to Hermione, who didn't need to be pulled forward; she hugged him for a long moment then released him, smiling.

Fleur stepped up to Ron with a smile. "Take care of 'Ermione, Ron," she said, hugging him as well; evidently he was not as embarrassed to embrace her as he had been Bill. Fleur kissed him lightly on each cheek, then embraced Hermione tightly.

Bill had turned to Harry, who had kept his eyes downcast until now. "I'm sorry about what happened," Harry mumbled, genuinely upset that their wedding had been marred by events focusing on him.

"Well, don't be," Bill chided him gently. "Just think, we're the only people in the world that can say Fenrir Greyback died at our wedding. People will think it was the event of the century." Ron and Hermione chuckled at that; Harry even smiled a bit. "And, considering the history I have with that bloke," Bill added, indicating his face, scarred by Fenrir's attack, "I can't say I'm sorry we're all shot of him."

"Too right," Ron agreed while Hermione and Fleur nodded.

"Take care, Harry," Bill said, giving him a hug which Harry, after a moment's hesitation, returned. Bill stepped back and Fleur came up to him, smiling brightly.

"Ah, 'Arry, we've done so much together, 'aven't we?" she said, touching his cheek. Harry smiled, but he really couldn't think of that much beyond the Tri-Wizard Tournament over two years ago. "I 'ope ev'rything will work out for the best with you, an' Ron, and 'Ermione. Take care," and she kissed each of his cheeks and embraced him.

She and Bill then took each other's hand and walked together back into the house, passing Ginny, who hugged both of them before joining Harry, Ron and Hermione.

"They're about finished," she said flatly, flopping into a nearby chair. "I didn't think it was possible to ask the same question so many different ways. They even wanted to know if I was still seeing Harry," she added, annoyed. "As if it were any of their business in the first place!"

"We were just talking about that," Hermione said seriously.

"What, me and Harry kissing?" Ginny asked, smirking at the look of pained embarrassment on Ron's face. Harry hadn't reacted.

"No, about all the questions they asked about Harry," Hermione mused. "It seemed like they were a lot more personal than what they would need to investigate Greyback's death."

"Yeah, 'Did Potter ever talk about Greyback to you?' or 'Did Potter ever say anything about killing Greyback to you?'" Ron said, mimicking the serious tone of one of the Aurors. "Now if Snape'd showed up and Harry had done him in, I might be a bit suspicious."

"Not that he wouldn't deserve it," Harry said darkly.

Just then Fred leaned out the back door. "Oi! Come on in, you lot. The Aurors have gone and Dad wants a word with everyone." They trudged into the house where in the living room, Mr. Weasley was waiting for them with his wife, Fred and George, and Bill and Fleur, who still hadn't left yet. He motioned for everyone to sit down, and after they'd all found chairs or places to sit, he paced back and forth for a few moments, apparently thinking over what to say.

"I was able to get a few moments with Kingsley Shacklebolt," he said finally. "He told me the general feeling among the Aurors conducting the investigation was that Harry acted in self-defense." There were cheers from Fred and George and both Mrs. Weasley and Ginny. Ron thumped Harry on the back and Hermione sighed in relief.

"Way to go, Harry!" George said, giving a thumbs-up.

"Who're you going to rub out next?" added Fred with a smirk.

"Hush, you two!" said Mrs. Weasley. "Go on, Arthur," she nodded to her husband.

"The other news isn't so good," Mr. Weasley said soberly. "The Aurors were under strict orders to discuss only _this_ investigation with everyone here. The Ministry is still dead set on having Harry's hearing next month."

"Did Kingsley get any impressions about what the Ministry's motivations are, Dad?" Bill asked.

Mr. Weasley shook his head. "No. He's perplexed as well. No one at the Ministry has even attempted to contact Harry's aunt or uncle to see what they know, nor has anyone tried to talk to either Ron or Hermione."

"Because if they did," Fred said bitterly. "They'd realize that they would tell them _they_ were doing magic, not Harry, and their case would fall apart. "

"It smells like a frame-up," George added, darkly.

"Don't be hasty," Mr. Weasley said mildly. "The Ministry can be officious and stuffy, but that's the way government offices are."

"You _always_ say that, Dad," Ginny said wearily. "I agree with George. They're out to get Harry again."

Mr. Weasley frowned. "I know it looks that way," he agreed, grudgingly. "But Rufus Scrimgeour issued a memorandum shortly after Dumbledore's funeral that said all information pertaining to Harry Potter should be routed through his office, and that he wanted no actions taken against him without his personal authorization." He paused to let that sink in.

Bill spoke first. "Are you suggesting that Scrimgeour is trying to support Harry in some way? Because I can see him doing that whether he intended to help Harry – _or_ gather evidence against him."

"Scrimgeour can't be very happy with me," Harry put in. "I've turned him down twice now to be his Ministry poster boy."

"But, why would he protect you _now_?" Hermione argued. "Unless he still thinks there's a chance you'll come round."

"That's why I think this hearing thing is just a Ministry foul-up," Mr. Weasley took up the conversation again. "The letter went out to Harry automatically, and to you and Ron as well, Hermione. By the time anyone realized what was going on, it was a part of the system and couldn't be stopped. I expect Harry'll go in next month and the whole thing will be cleared up in a few minutes."

There were looks of skepticism around the room. Mrs. Weasley stood up and said bracingly, "Here now, let's have no gloomy looks or bad feelings about this. Your father's been at the Ministry long enough to know what's what there. Harry will go to his hearing next month and be cleared, so he can go back to school and get on –"

"I'm not going back to school," Harry said, before he could stop himself. The room went dead quiet.

Mrs. Weasley looked around at him as if she had misheard. "What did you say, Harry dear?"

Harry took a deep breath and repeated himself. "I'm not going back to school."

Mrs. Weasley took a step back as if she'd been struck a physical blow. "But – but why on earth not?"

"Because there are … things I need to do."

"'Things?'" Mrs. Weasley said, sounding baffled and irritated by the vagueness of Harry's remark. "What things?"

"Things Professor Dumbledore asked me to do, before he died."

"Wicked!" Fred and George both exclaimed. Mrs. Weasley shot them a dark look, and they lapsed into silence, still grinning.

"Harry, dear," Mrs. Weasley said, turning back to him. Harry could hear the strain in her voice as she struggled to remain calm. "Whatever Dumbledore asked you to do, I'm sure he never meant for you to neglect your education. Surely –"

"I'm sorry, but there isn't going to be a debate on this," Harry cut over her. "I'm going to be seventeen soon, and I know what I'm doing. I'm not going back. When I turn seventeen, I'll move out on my own."

Ron and Hermione looked at each other, their mouths open. Mr. Weasley put his head down, sighing. Fleur had put her hand to her mouth, stifling a gasp, while Ginny and Bill had made no reaction.

Mrs. Weasley stood stock-still, staring at Harry. He felt as if she were marshalling arguments against him. After several moments she turned to Ron. "Did you know about this, Ronald?"

"Er –" Put on the spot, Ron looked terrified he would say the wrong thing. "Well, I – that is, we –"

"Of course we all knew." Ginny had said this; she was staring defiantly at her mother. "The reason nobody told you is that we all knew how you'd react."

"WELL HOW ELSE WOULD YOU EXPECT ME TO REACT?!" Mrs. Weasley exploded. "HARRY CAN'T JUST GO THROWING AWAY HIS EDUCATION AFTER ALL THESE YEARS!"

"I'm not throwing anything away," Harry said as Mrs. Weasley, now red-faced, paused to draw breath for another salvo. "Hogwarts will still be there when I'm done; I can still return and finish my final year, if they'll have me."

Mrs. Weasley opened her mouth to retort, but instead, she seemed to change her mind.

"Fine," she said calmly, as if she hadn't just been shouting at the top of her voice. "You're right, Harry – you're about to come of age, and you must do what you think is best. And so must I."

She turned to the others. "Bill and Fleur, you'd better be off before we find some other reason to keep you here." They nodded, looking perplexed and, after hugging everyone, walked outside together. Just beyond the gate, they disappeared.

"Right, I'll have dinner ready in half an hour," Mrs. Weasley continued briskly. "You three –" she pointed at Fred, George and Ron. "Get those chairs Vanished and move our tables back where they were. Ginny, when they finish that, I want you to get it set for supper. Everybody hop to it!"

An hour later Harry was in the Ron's room, now full, sitting with Ron and Hermione. They'd come upstairs to talk about what to do next, but none of them knew quite where to begin. It would be two more weeks before his hearing at the Ministry, and a month before he turned seventeen.

Finally, Ron spoke. "You know, I've never thought about how I'm going to tell Mum I'm leaving school with Harry."

"Neither have I," Hermione said as well. She smiled, displaying normal size front teeth. "I remember my mother was very upset with me, the first time she saw me after my teeth were fixed. She thought I'd gone ahead and shrunk them myself."

"What did you tell her?" Harry asked, curiously.

"Well, the truth, of course," Hermione said, a bit archly. "I told her about the fight between you and Malfoy, and the spell he cast that bounced off yours and hit me. When I had Madame Pomfrey shrink my teeth, she went just a bit too far until they looked like this, and it seemed silly to ask her to make them bigger again," Hermione smiled.

"But my dad never said a thing about them, even after he'd cleaned them the following summer. He just said, 'They're coming along nicely, aren't they?'

"Now that I have to tell them I'm not going back to school," Hermione continued, serious now. "I don't know how they're going to take it."

"You don't have to tell them that, you know," Harry said quietly. "You can still go back to school, if it opens."

"And leave you and Ron to fend for yourselves? Please!" But there was a twinkle in her eye as she said this.

"Ha, ha. You can laugh now," Ron said, annoyed. "But you saw how Mum acted when _Harry_ said he wasn't going back to school. I don't want to imagine what she's going to do when _I_ tell her."

"At least you're old enough to leave right now if you wanted to," Harry pointed out. "Both of you. I've still got a month to go."

There was a knock on the door and a moment Mr. Weasley put his head in and looked at Hary. "Harry, may I have a word with you? Downstairs, please." Harry got up and followed Mr. Weasley downstairs and into his study.

He motioned toward a chair. Harry flopped down in it and Mr. Weasely asked, "Fancy some tea? Mrs. Weasley just brought me a pot,"

"Yes, thanks."

Mr. Weasley poured the tea, handing Harry the cup, then moved silently toward the door, taking out his wand. Harry watched, intrigued, as he stopped in front of the door and tapped it lightly. Putting the wand away, Mr. Weasley walked back and sat at his desk, sipping his tea for a moment before saying, "Not that anyone will be listening, Harry, but I've lived with Fred and George long enough to know how much they hate private conversations. Except their own, of course.

"I hope you don't think you have to be in a hurry to go anywhere, Harry," Mr. Weasley began, looking at him circumspectly as he sipped at his tea. "I wanted to tell you that, no matter what you decide to do or where to go, you'll always be welcome here."

"Thank you, sir," Harry said earnestly. "I really am glad to hear that."

"It's been a difficult couple of years, I know," Mr. Weasley went on seriously. "Dumbledore had always told us that You-Know-Who might return someday. But it always seemed so very improbable, right up until the day it happened." Harry nodded, remembering that day as well.

"The ranks of the Order have been decreased as well. Mundungus is in Azkaban, Snape –" Harry's face darkened at his mention – "has switched sides, and Emmaline Vance is dead." Mr. Weasley leaned forward and regarded Harry intently. "Harry, we do not want to lose you, too."

"Believe me, sir, I have no desire to sacrifice myself," Harry said earnestly. "I want to come back to – to all of you," he finished, not knowing whether Ginny had ever broached the subject of him and her with her father. "But Dumbledore trusted me, and I believe what he believed."

"What did he believe, Harry?" Mr. Weasley asked.

Harry hesitated. "I can only say, sir, that he believed there was a way I could make a difference. And that I want to do so."

Mr. Weasley sighed. "I understand, Harry. Believe me, I've come to understand just how much personal sacrifice one can be asked to make, even though our family, thankfully, has been largely spared.

"Very well, then," Mr. Weasley said, getting up from his desk and coming around to Harry's side. "I won't keep you any longer. Have a good night's rest, and I'll keep you informed of any developments about your hearing."

"Thank you, sir." Mr. Weasley opened the door and Harry went back up to Ron's room, where he was lying in bed staring at the ceiling, lost in thought, as Harry came through the door.

"That didn't take long," Ron said, coming out of his reverie as Harry shut the door behind him. "What did Dad want to talk about?"

"He was giving me an update on my hearing," Harry said evasively, but then added, "And he wanted to talk about me leaving the Burrow." Ron sat up suddenly.

"What did he say?" he asked anxiously. "He can't want you to leave, does he?"

"No, he was just concerned that I'd been planning to leave so soon." Ron relaxed.

"Hermione wondered if he and Mum were getting a bit of 'Empty Nest Syndrome,' she called it. Parents getting depressed because all their kids are leaving home. Personally, I can't imagine them being anything but happy to be shot of Fred and George."

_Crack_. _Crack_.

"We heard that, little brother," Fred said reprovingly as both he and George Apparated into Ron's bedroom. "You wound us, deeply."

"Yeah," George agreed. "Besides, we thought seeing the back of Percy the Perfect Prat would've convinced them that sometimes a child leaving home can be the best thing that ever happened to them."

"Eavesdropping again, were you?" Ron said knowingly. "Why didn't you listen in on Dad's chat with Harry?"

"Unfortunately, our dear father has taken to making his door Imperturbable lately," Fred said in a manner reminiscent of one who's been grievously misjudged. "Our mother has had a sad influence on the man."

"Absolutely deplorable," George agreed. "Fortunately, we have other means at our disposal."

"A small hole behind one of the bookcases in his study, to be precise," Fred said, grinning.

"So you heard," Harry said. It wasn't a question.

"We did indeed, Harry," George said. "And we're _very_ impressed."

"Very," Fred repeated. "It takes a lot of courage to go after You-Know-Who, but even more so, in our opinion, to stand up to Mum."

"What makes you think I'm going after Voldemort?" Harry asked casually, trying to make the question sound inconsequential.

"Just a hunch," Fred said cagily. "There are rumors flying about in Diagon Alley about Dumbledore trying to learn everything he could about him. Now that he's dead, it seems like he'd pass the mantle on to you."

"Yes," Harry said. Ron looked at him warningly, but Harry shook his head. "Ron we're going to need help. You, Hermione and I can't do it by ourselves. With Dumbledore we might've, but he's gone now."

Fred and George looked at each other, finally surprised. "Ron and Hermione?" George said, sounding slightly affronted. "What, didn't think about us?"

Harry looked at the twins. Of all the people, other than Ron or Hermione, he might be tempted to tell about Voldemort's Horcruxes, it was these two men. "We need you two to keep your ears to the ground in Diagon Alley for us."

Fred and George both looked at Harry seriously, and Fred said, "If you need help on anything, and I mean _anything_, Harry, we're you're men."

"We can be a bit useful in a pinch," George put in.

Harry nodded, glad that Fred and George could be counted on if they needed them. They would be useful, with as much practical knowledge of magic as they had between the two of them. With that, and with Ron and Hermione behind him, Harry thought, the end of Voldemort's reign of terror might just be in sight.


	5. The Attic

Chapter Five

**The Attic**

Mrs. Weasley, rather than badger Harry about his plans to drop out of Hogwarts, had taken a "hands off" approach, leaving him strictly alone about such personal details. That Monday, however, she announced that the Burrow was to be thoroughly cleaned, top to bottom, and that everyone in the house was to pitch in. Harry didn't mind, of course; he was always happy to give whatever help he could. Unlike number 12 Grimmauld Place, the Burrow, happily, was doxy- and boggart-free, but gnomes perinally infestedg the garden, and there was a lot of settled dust in unused rooms, especially Fred and George's, which had served as a store room for some time.

Worse, both Hermione and Ginny also seemed to think it was a good idea to get the house cleaned up as well. "After all," Hermione pointed out to Harry the first evening. "It's the least we can do for the hospitality she's shown us. We'll take a week or two to get things squared away, then we can tackle You-Know-Who."

What they shortly found out, however, was that it was Mrs. Weasley's strategy to get each of them alone to grill them for information about Harry's plans once he left Hogwarts and the Burrow. "I didn't think I'd say this about another human being, much less my mum," Ron moaned the second evening after describing her efforts to penetrate his innermost secrets. "But she's worse than Umbridge!"

Harry didn't mind helping around the Burrow; the Weasleys had made him feel very much a part of their family over the years. But this seemed beyond the pale. "You can't really blame her for trying," Hermione said the third evening after her own interrogation. "She's _worried_ about you, Harry!"

It was a concern that Harry shared wholeheartedly. He had scant ideas on how to proceed in his quest to destroy Voldemort's Horcruxes and Voldemort himself; he would need every bit of help Hermione and Ron could give him, as loathe as he was to place them in danger. For Mrs. Weasley to make such intrigue out of it, however, seemed to cheapen the effort.

"Maybe I should tell her we all plan to leave Hogwarts, and why," Harry suggested to Fred and George, who were visiting for lunch one afternoon. At Harry's insistence they had crowded into the Weasley's broom shed and Imperturbed the door against listening devices like Extendable Ears.

"Bad idea, mate," Fred shook his head. "Leave that to Ron."

"Right," George concurred. "Better she hear it from him than you."

"Ron thinks she'll kill him," Harry argued.

"Oh, she'll give him an earful for his trouble," Fred said, sharing a smile with George. "By the way, d'you know she's already had a go at us about what you're up to?"

"No, I didn't," Harry said, surprised. "When did that happen?"

"You and Ron were up dusting out our old room," George said. "Which we appreciate, by the way, in case we ever decide to drop by for a night or two."

"We're cleaning out the extra boxes in your room this afternoon," Harry said. He eyed them with a mixture of amusement and suspicion. "Is there anything in those boxes we ought to be worried about?"

Fred looked thoughtfor for several moments. "Can't think of anything," he said at last. "But don't go looking into anything without checking it for magic first."

Fred and George's old room, they had learned, was filled with strange and wondrous things: scraps and folders of parchment filled with odd diagrams and arcane words and figures. Ron found an old bag of sweets, evidently a first attempt at some of their joke candy. Wisely, he'd decided not to try any. Harry found a wand that would turn different colors each time it was waved. Flourishing it with different motions caused it to assume multiple colors in varying patterns. Ron had come across an old hat that did nothing but turn the wearer's hair green for anywhere from a few seconds to over an hour; he'd almost missed dinner the previous evening waiting for his hair to turn red again.

That afternoon, Harry and Ron returned to Fred and George's room to clean out any junk left in boxes and move the rest of their things up to the attic. Most of them seemed to be filled with junk: nothing but scraps of parchment, broken quills, and empty, dusty potion bottles. Ron shook his head as they emptied boxful after boxful of trash. "They must've cleaned out everything they wanted," he muttered to Harry. "Figures they'd leave nothing but junk up here."

In one of the last boxes Harry came across a folder with a few scraps of parchment in it. He started to throw it away as well but his eye had caught sight of a neat line of handwriting on one of the pages. Reaching into the folder, Harry pulled out a few sheets of parchment with the word "Mystery Map" across the front of it.

"Aha!" he said, looking up at Ron. "This might be worth a shifty."

"What is it?" Ron looked up, interested. Harry held up the pages, pointing to the words "Mystery Map" across the top.

"Mystery Map?" Ron mused, intrigued. "I wonder if that means the Marauder's Map?"

"That's what I'd guess," Harry concurred.

During Harry's third year, when students were normally allowed to visit Hogsmeade several times during the year, because the Dursleys hadn't signed his permission slip he wasn't allowed to go. During the December visit, Fred and George had presented him with the Marauder's Map: the reason, they said, why they knew every square inch of the school and grounds. The Map showed every level of the castle and the grounds, along with labels showing the location of every person who was in the school or on the grounds. It had all the secret passages inside the castle, into and out of the school grounds, and the magic words needed to activate the secrets. It had been invaluable in the past four years helping Harry keep track of people like Snape, Malfoy, and Filch when he needed to avoid them. It had even, the first year he had it, shown him the name Peter Pettigrew, the man who had betrayed Harry's father and mother to Voldemort.

Ron looked over Harry's shoulder at the parchment as Harry read the first entry.

Mystery Map

September 8 –

We had the displeasure today of meeting Filch, the caretaker, and a right foul piece of work he is. We'd skived off Charms class and were exploring the castle when a cat walked by. Thought it was a student's pet but we found out it was Filch's cat, a ghastly little beast named Mrs. Norris. We ran across Filch a few minutes later and he hauled us off to his office.

Suffice it to say, it was not one of the more pleasant introductions we've had at Hogwarts. There was one good thing to come of our meeting, however – we found that Filch keeps a drawer full of confiscated items. Had a shufti at several items as Filch rummaged through the drawer. One caught our eye – a large piece of folded parchment – and we decided to nick it and have a look at leisure. So far haven't come up with much – it's blank, but if it was in Filch's drawer it has to be interesting. George suggested we keep a log of what we try on the parchment so we don't end up repeating ourselves, and that's what this journal is about.

"Interesting," Harry said, looking at Ron. "I've always wondered how they figured out how the Marauder's Map worked." He read on:

September 13 –

Haven't been able to make heads nor tails of the ruddy parchment yet. We're almost tempted to nick back into Filch's office and have another look in his cabinet for anything else in there about it. Tried Revelaspell on it but it just got cheeky with us.

Harry remembered when Snape had tried this same thing on the Marauder's Map. It had insulted him as well, by name. They read on.

October 25 –

Between the two of us we've read half-way through the library's Transfiguration and Charms section. Told Fred we ought to show it to Bill, he's gotten a job as a cursebreaker at Gringott's, he might know a way to figure this out. But that's a last resort – we're not letting a bleeding piece of paper get the best of us. Our goal is to have it licked by Christmas.

"I guess they had a bit more trouble with it than they let on," Harry grinned.

November 3 –

Found a few more spell detection charms to try on the parchment, but no luck. _Aperius Dissimulus_ fizzled as did _Magus Detectum_. We may have to resort to asking Bill after all.

"I've never heard of those spells," Ron said, looking at the two incantations the notes mentioned.

"Me either," Harry muttered. "It sounds like they read quite a lot trying to figure the Map out."

"Something must've worked," Ron reasoned. "Obviously they figured enough out to show you, years later, how it worked." They looked back at the next entry:

December 16 –

Thought we should have a go at the parchment again, it's been a while since we've tried anything with it. So far we've gotten it to show the following phrases while attempting to reveal its secrets:

1. Get stuffed, you're hardly trying.

2. Were you really expecting that to work?

3. You'd do better studying chartered accountancy than magic.

4. I think your mum is calling you.

5. Never tickle a sleeping dragon.

6. You're as pathetic as Snivellus Snape.

7. You really should study more for your O.W.L.s, you know.

8. Don't worry, there'll always be work for dustmen.

Not very encouraging, it's odds-on whether we crack this nut before Boxing Day or not. We may have to owl Bill if we don't have it by then.

Harry looked at the next page in the folder, but the rest of them were blank. "That's all they wrote," he said, chagrinned.

"Guess they figured it out right after that," Ron shrugged.

"Yeah, but _how_?" Harry said, now frustrated that there was no satisfaction for his curiosity. "They never told me how they figured it out – just showed me what to do to turn it on and off."

"Maybe they wrote it down in some other book or parchment," Ron said, doubtfully. "But… they never were much for keeping track of things."

They searched through the last few boxes but came up empty; there was nothing else written about the Map.

The last task remaining was to move the boxes still contained items to be stored up to the attic and bring down any rubbish that had accumulated up there. It was a task Ron wasn't too keen to perform. "The ghoul is still knocking about up there," he mentioned to Harry as they walked the boxes to be carried up to the staircase leading to the attic.

"I've read that ghouls like eating spiders," Harry couldn't resist mentioning as Ron stared at the door. He looked at Harry with a combination of dread and disgust.

"Thanks for cheering me up with that, mate," he said sourly. "Well done!"

"Ron, it's going to growl at us and then run away," Harry said matter-of-factly. "It's more scared of us than we are of it."

"You think so?" Ron said dubiously, but he grasped the knob and turned it. The door opened and they peered into the darkness.

Harry could see the ghoul staring in their direction from the light of his lantern; as expected, it made a growling sound, but as the door continued to open and light fell upon it, it turned and fled to a far corner of the attic, well away from them.

Most of the stuff in the attic was in stacks and piles near the doorway. There was a rickety lamp table and an old bureau. The floor was strewn with pieces of parchment, tipped over boxes and other small objects, evidently things thrown about by the ghoul.

"What a mess," Ron sighed.

"It's not too bad," Harry said, putting the lantern down on the lamp table and beginning to restack boxes and pick up loose parchment scraps. "Mind the spider on your leg," he said casually and Ron yelped and jumped about a foot as Harry laughed. Ron swore feelingly at him.

"You kiss your mum with that mouth?" Harry snickered as he opened up a box and, finding it empty, threw the parchment scraps into it.

"You can kiss my — you _know_ I don't like spiders, Harry!" Ron looked around again in spite of himself before pulling out his wand and saying "_Lumos_." The tip of his wand lit, illuminating most of the attic and drawing another growl from the ghoul, now standing in the farthest corner with its arm thrown across its face. "Much better – except now I can see the ghoul."

"Can you see yourself helping me anytime soon?" Harry complained, waving one hand to indicate the mess. "You're the one who's old enough to use magic, after all."

Ron began using his wand to _Accio_ small objects laying about on the floor to him. "It's not like I'm going to tell if you use magic, Harry. Especially if it gets us down and out of here quicker."

Harry pulled out his wand, but hesitated for a moment. Would the Ministry of Magic be able to find out if he used magic, up here in the Burrow's attic? It seemed unlikely, but the Ministry lately seemed to alternate between courting Harry's favor and wanting him thrown in Azkaban. But it was less than a month until he was seventeen…

Harry shrugged and pointed his wand at a scrap of parchment on the floor nearby, saying "_Accio_!" The scrap zoomed toward his hand, then began to flutter away. Harry caught it and pointed at another scrap. Soon he and Ron had cleared most of the floor near the doorway of scraps. They began working on the various small objects lying about; it was even becoming something of a competition to see who could get the smallest object, or the farthest, in the room.

Finally a small gleam of light caught Harry's eye in a far corner. He aimed carefully and shouted "_Accio_," catching the object as it sped toward him. Turning to drop it in the scrap box, he instead gasped in surprise.

"What's up?" Ron turned to look at what Harry was holding out to him. "Whoa!" The object Harry held was like nothing he'd seen before – wait, scratch that, Harry thought. It did look vaguely like some of the strange silver instruments he'd seen in Dumbledore's office in the past. Ron took it from him, turning it gingerly to examine it.

"What _is_ this thing?" he asked wonderingly. It looked like a small silver box, but there was no obvious lid or hinge, and no button or fastener to push or turn to open it.

"Dunno," Harry said. "D'you think your mum or dad will know?"

"Maybe." Ron shook it gently. "It feels empty, I don't hear anything rattling inside. I wonder if there's anything else up here like this."

Harry pointed at the other boxes stacked nearby. "We can find out quick enough. _Specialis Revelio!_" he cried, pointing at the topmost box. Nothing happened, and Harry proceeded to the next box, and the next, until one, on the top of the last stack, glowed faintly as the spell struck it.

"Excellent!" Ron said, grabbing the box. "Grab the rubbish box, Harry and let's go down to my room and check this out!" He followed Harry out the door, pulling it shut behind him, and they went into Ron's room. Opening the box, Ron pulled out several handfuls of old parchments, apparently school assignments, with the name "Arthur Weasley" scrawled across the top. He handed them to Harry, who glanced over them perfunctorily; there were mostly A's on them with an occasional E and some P's. Most of the passing grades were in Charms and Transfiguration papers while the P's seemed to be mostly on History of Magic and interestingly, Harry thought, Muggle Studies. There weren't any lessons about Defense Against the Dark Arts in the first handful Ron had handed him, nor in the second.

"I wonder what we detected," Ron said, now peering intently into the box for anything unusual like the silver box they'd found. "This just seems to be Dad's old school papers." He looked up at Harry, bemused. "Nothing very magical about that, I'd expect, unless he cheated on his homework assignments…"

"You mean like having someone else write them for him?" Harry asked, pointedly. Hermione corrected a lot of Ron's papers or just wrote them outright for him to recopy in his own writing.

"Get off it, Hermione helps you just as much – hello, what's this?" Ron had pulled out a leather-bound book with the name _Arthur Caractacus Weasley_ and the date _February 6, 1952_ embossed in gold print on the cover.

"I never knew Dad's middle name was 'Caractacus,' " Ron said, staring at the name on the cover. "I can see why he never told us."

"Let's see what's inside," Harry suggested.

Ron opened up the book. On the first page was an inscription, which he read: "To my nephew Arthur, with much affection and best wishes for the future – Uncle Archie." Ron scratched his chin, thinking. "I don't think Mum or Dad ever mentioned an Uncle Archie."

"Maybe he died before you were born," Harry suggested.

"Maybe." Ron flipped through a few pages. "His first entry was on February 6, 1963 – his eleventh birthday. That must've been the day he got this journal." Ron read:

6 Feb 1963 – My 11th birthday!

Dear Journal,

Uncle Archie has given you to me and I promise to write in you every day. Today, for my birthday, Uncle Archie and I went to Diagon Alley where he bought me an owl, which I've named Percival —(both Harry and Ron laughed at this; Ron snickered, "I bet Percy would _love_ to read that!")— after one of King Arthur's knights. He also gave me a magic box he built himself, it unlocks by touching the sides of the box in the right order (which I shan't tell here!)

"Now we know what that box is, I reckon," Ron said.

"I wonder why your mum and dad never mentioned him," Harry pondered.

Ron was flipping through the pages of his father's journal. "Probably like you said," he said absently. "He died a long time ago or something like that."

There was a knock on the door and Hermione poked her head into the room. "Finished cleaning the attic already?" she asked.

"It was a doss," Harry said, waving his wand airily. "We just Imperiused the ghoul and had him do it." Ron hid a chuckle behind his hand.

"Very droll, Harry," Hermione said archly. "Except that ghouls are too simple-minded to give instructions like 'Clean this room' to, even when Imperiused."

"That's good to know, assuming I ever actually try to Imperius a ghoul to do housework – which I won't," Harry said with a grin.

"Harry found this in this attic," Ron said, handing her the silver box. "We also found a journal my father kept when he was a kid. Hermione looked at it.

"It's a puzzle-box, isn't it?" she decided after a few seconds, handing it back to Ron.

"Now how could you tell that just by looking at it?" Ron demanded.

"It had to be," Hermione shrugged. "Without an obvious opening mechanism."

Ron seemed irked that Hermione had figured out the secret of the ivory box so quickly. Harry changed the subject. "The journal we found also talked about Ron's dad's Uncle Archie."

Hermione was silent a moment. "I don't remember anyone ever mentioning him."

"Neither do I," Ron said, almost sounding relieved to Harry's ears. "We'll have to ask Dad at dinner what he remembers."

"What're we having for dinner tonight?" Harry asked.

"Steak and kidney pies and Cornish pastries," Hermione said, not sounding to enthused, but Ron smacked his lips.

He held up the silver box and his father's journal. "A pretty good haul today," he said. "Between this box, Dad's journal, and Fred and George's 'Mystery Map' notes, we did alright."

"I just hope finding Horcruxes is this easy," Harry muttered.


	6. Uncle Archie

Chapter Six

**Uncle Archie**

At supper that evening Mr. Weasley was quite eager to talk about what he'd learned at the Ministry that day. "Kingsley's been making inquiries at the Improper Use of Magic Office, following up on Greyback case. Malfada's reviewed the case and she didn't see any problem with their findings. The good news –" he beamed at Harry "– is that she also mentioned that there were wizards who were of age with Harry (you and Hermione, Ron), who performed magic to help him pack, and they testify that no Muggles were present, she expects that Scrimgeour will let the case drop," Mr. Weasley finished happily.

"What did he find out about our cases?" Ron asked quickly.

"Well, he didn't want to ask _too_ many questions, Ron," Mr. Weasley explained patiently. "He didn't want to arouse any suspicion about why he was asking after so many of you at once."

"Right, figures," Ron said, annoyed.

"Ron, don't be such a baby," Ginny chided him. "He's got over a month to find out, you know." Mrs. Weasley called for her to help and she went and brought a large bowl of mashed potatoes back to the table. Mrs. Weasley was bringing steak and kidney pie and Cornish pastries to the table; Ginny grabbed another bowl, of cauliflower, and they all sat down to eat.

"That is good news about Harry," Mrs. Weasley put in, also smiling happily at Harry. Harry smiled in return, though he couldn't help worrying what else would go wrong before July fourteenth, now only a week away next Monday.

"It is," Ginny agreed, smiling at him as well. Harry smiled back, wishing for a moment he didn't have to be so noble, and stupid.

"I'm glad we're all agreed about Harry's good news –" Ron began dryly, but stopped as Hermione's elbow caught him in the ribs.

"How's the housecleaning been going?" Mr. Weasley asked, buttering a roll.

"Very well," Mrs. Weasley said brightly. "We're all done!"

"Ah, splendid! Getting this house clean top to bottom can be quite a chore," Mr. Weasley said feelingly. "I know – I remember helping when I was a boy."

"Speaking of that, sir," Harry put in, seizing the opportunity, "Ron and I found some of your school papers in the attic today."

"_Did_ you, now?" Mr. Weasley said, his face breaking into a grin. "They must've been quite interesting. I daresay I would be embarrassed to look at them after all this time; as I recall, I got my share of Poors, I'm sorry to say."

"We also found your journal," Ron said, producing the book which he'd hidden behind his back. "We were going to ask you who Uncle Archie was."

The effect that name had on Mr. and Mrs. Weasley was remarkable. Both of them looked at each other, mouths open. "Oh, Arthur," Mrs. Weasley whispered, her eyes beginning to water.

Mr. Weasley sighed heavily. "Well, Molly, we knew this day would come. I just didn't think it would be now."

"Who's 'Uncle Archie?' " Ginny asked, perplexed, looking from her mother and father to Hermione, Ron, then Harry.

"Perhaps I should wait until the rest of us are together –" Ginny and Ron made sounds of protest "– On the other hand," Mr. Weasley finished, looking at his youngest son and daughter, "It could be a while before that happens, and there's no use keeping you in suspense." He took a deep breath and began.

"Archie Weasley was my uncle, the youngest brother of my father Septimus. He was quite a talented wizard and was also a very skilled artisan and craftsman. He absolutely loved building gadgets and nick-nacks that worked Muggle-fashion as well as magical devices. I remember he once built a small puzzle box and gave to me when I was about eleven –" Ron held up the silver box "– yes, just like that! Was that up in the attic as well? Goodness, I must be getting forgetful in my old age.

"Well, to continue: My grandfather died when I was fourteen and his will stipulated that Archie was to take care of my mother and provide for her from the family gold, which he was put in charge of. This made my other uncles angry, because they considered Uncle Archie something of a spendthrift and wastrel."

"Was he, then?" Ron asked.

"No," Mr. Weasley said firmly. "He was generous with his own money, even though the allowances he, my father and uncles had from the family estate were not as extravagant as some pureblood Wizarding families, but we were well-off enough. My father was quite content with the arrangement and he helped Archie take care of my mother for several years before she died as well."

"I remember that," Mrs. Weasley put in, speaking quietly. "It was just before you and I eloped, Arthur." They smiled lovingly at each other for several moments before Ron discretely cleared his throat.

"Well, after my gran died my uncles began clamoring for their share of the inheritance, even though they had also done quite well for themselves and had no real need of the money, whereas both my father and Uncle Archie had devoted themselves to caring for her and hadn't pursued their fortunes to any degree.

"Archie put them off for quite a while, telling them that it was taking time converting the money into gold from the various interests he'd invested in our mother's name. They didn't believe him; said he was using the money himself, or hiding it for himself and my father to use later."

"Did they ever find out what happened to the money?" Ginny asked breathlessly.

"No one ever did," Mr. Weasley said heavily. "I refuse to believe Uncle Archie took the money. Lord knows my father never saw any of it, either."

"What happened to him?" Harry asked.

"The last we ever saw of him was on my birthday, the year Bill was born," Mr. Weasley said, remembering. "Molly and I had been married a few months and were living here with my parents, when he showed up at the door one day with that –" and Mr. Weasley pointed to the grandfather clock " —as a wedding gift for us. I remember as he presented it to us two hands appeared on the face of the clock.

"He said to me, 'Arthur, you've always been the most curious of the lot in our family; I reckon you'll go far as long as you keep that.'" Mr. Weasley sighed gustily. "I suppose he was wrong about that, wasn't he?"

"Oh, rubbish!" Mrs. Weasley said, her face flushing. "Arthur, you know very well you've done alright by all of us." She was echoed by Ron and Ginny, and Harry and Hermione both nodded in agreement as well.

"Well, he had a piece of cake and left, and that was the last any of us ever saw of him, or of the money," Mr. Weasley continued. "I thought my uncles were going to have strokes, they were so angry at him. They said some very unpleasant things about him, and my father and I were not very happy with them, and told them so. They cut off all communications with us and we haven't heard a word from them since then."

He sat back, looking around at the others. Hermione, Harry saw, looked on the verge of tears while Ron and Ginny just stared at each other, openmouthed.

Finally Ron spoke. "But if he was in charge of your grandmum's money, what happened when they went down to Gringotts and demanded to know what happened to it?"

"Ron, it was gone," his father said patiently. "Her accounts were closed, and if anyone ever found out who closed them I was never let in on it."

"So he _might_ have taken the money and left, right?" Ron persisted.

"He might have," Mr. Weasley admitted reluctantly. "But I knew him my entire life, until he disappeared, and he never struck me as the kind of man to do something like that."

"But people can change, can't they?" Ron pressed.

"They can, but –"

"So your Uncle Archie might be the reason we're all poor," Ron cut in. The women gasped and Harry blinked, surprised at Ron's rudeness to his father.

"Ron, shut it," Ginny snapped at him. "If Dad says he trusted his uncle that should be good enough." Both she, and Hermione, Harry noticed, were giving Ron very disapproving looks. He didn't even dare look at Mrs. Weasley.

"Fine," Ron said loudly, not caring what any of them thought. "Ignore it if you like. I can see why you didn't want to say anything about it – it's plain as anything that he did something with the money!"

Mr. Weasley was giving Ron a disappointed look, but he said nothing. Mrs. Weasley, however, was more vocal.

"RON, THAT'S ENOUGH! YOUR FATHER KNEW HIS UNCLE BETTER THAN YOU DID, IT'S NOT YOUR PLACE TO QUESTION HIM –" Ron stood and bolted from the table up the stairs. "– COME BACK HERE, I'M NOT FINISHED –"

"Molly, Molly," Mr. Weasley said, putting out a hand to stop her as she began to get up and follow Ron. "Let him be for now. I didn't take the news of my uncle's disappearance very well myself, now that I think about it."

"Well who does he think he is," Mrs. Weasley said, still quite vexed. "Questioning his own father like that?" Harry looked at Hermione and Ginny; both of them looked as uncomfortable as he felt, though from Ginny's expression she wasn't too happy with the news either. From what Harry understood, Mr. Weasley had just told them the reason why their family had been cut off from the more well-to-do families of the Wizarding world.

The rest of the meal passed in silence, even the pudding was eaten without comment. Harry helped clear the table, but when he went to wipe the dishes Hermione told him in a whisper to check on Ron. Glad to be out of there – both Mr. and Mrs. Weasley looked very unhappy – Harry ran up the steps and walked into Ron's room, where Ron was lying on his bed, his arms folded across his chest. Harry laid down on his bed as well.

After a few minutes Ron finally spoke. "So what did they say after I left?" he asked plaintively.

"Nothing," Harry said. "Your father just said he was unhappy as well when it happened."

"I'll bet," Ron growled. "His uncle steals the family fortune and he just can't handle the truth, so he believes everyone else in his family is just wrong about him, and he's right."

Harry sat up and faced Ron. "Listen, Ron, I do know something about misjudging family members. The year that Sirius broke out of Azkaban everyone was sure that he wanted to kill me. Even _I_ was sure he did. And when I thought he was the one who betrayed my parents, I wanted to kill _him_.

"Only after I had a chance to talk to Sirius did I understand what he went through, and why he was so upset seeing Peter Pettigrew in the picture of your family while you were in Egypt that summer. He'd spent twelve years in prison for a crime he didn't commit, and there was the proof of it right there in that picture." Harry fell silent.

Ron said nothing for a while. When he finally did, Harry could hear the frustration in his voice. "I know I've complained about being poor, Harry. It's not always easy having nothing but hand-me-downs and secondhand things." He shrugged. "But it's not that big a deal, I s'pose. Both Bill and Charlie have done well for themselves, they're happy with what they're doing, and Bill's married now." Ron sighed and sat up on the side of his bed, looking at Harry.

"I just thought, you know, that our family ran out of money or something like that. I never expected to hear that one of my relatives _took_ it all."

"Your dad doesn't think so," Harry argued.

"Yeah, but it was Dad's favorite uncle. I was reading his journal earlier and he _adored_ the bloke. Wanted to be just like him when he grew up, being able to build things like he did. 'S probably why Dad's so wild about Muggle things like plugs and eckeltricity and what-have-you – they do things _without_ magic that we do _with_ it."

Harry nodded.

Ron shrugged again, a bit angry, perhaps, at himself. "I just couldn't take it, Harry. I know Dad loved the guy, and maybe we've been better off not rubbing shoulders with slime like the Malfoys and that lot, but just once, it would be nice, you know, not having to worry about where every Sickle and Knut goes, much less every Galleon."

"You know if you ever need money," Harry said quietly, "I've got loads of it in –"

"Thanks, mate," Ron said, cutting over him. "You've always been that way, since the first day I've known you. You nearly cleaned out the lunch trolley on the Hogwarts Express the first time we rode it, you've bought things loads of times. And you giving the Triwizard Tournament money to Fred and George to start their shop was brilliant! They're making bags of gold, and there isn't anything they wouldn't do for you.

"I just don't want to feel like I have my hand out all the time, you know?"

"I haven't thought anything like that," Harry said quickly.

"I know," Ron said. "But _I_ have."

The door opened at that moment and Hermione stepped in without knocking. She crossed her arms, looking at Ron severely. "That was very rude of you, Ron, talking to your father like that."

"Drop it, Hermione," Harry and Ron both said, then looked at each other and laughed. Hermione, however, was not amused.

"Oh _fine_, then," she said testily. "Be rude to _me_ on top of it, too!"

"Look," Ron told her shortly. "I'll talk to Dad in the morning, I'll make it right with him, okay?"

"Well, you should!"

"Well, I will!"

Hermione stood there for a minute, looking back and forth between them, before finally asking, "What were you doing before I came in?"

"Talking," Harry said curtly.

"About … ?" Hermione prompted.

"About wonderful 'Uncle Archie,' of course," Ron said irritably. "I'll talk to Dad, okay? Just drop it, will ya? Go read a book or something."

Hermione looked at him, stung, then turned and stalked to the door. "Fine," she said, without looking at Ron. "I'll leave you two to chat. Good night, Harry." Without a word to Ron she left.

Ron leaned forward, putting his face in his hands while Harry looked between him and the door, perplexed. Both Hermione and Ron were being noticeably cross with each other recently, he thought. He couldn't pin down why yet, though. They didn't seem to be like this when they came for him at Privet Drive. Harry wondered if he could get Ron to talk about it.

"Fancy a game of wizard chess," he asked, trying to sound casual.

"Maybe tomorrow," Ron said, then picked his pajama bottoms off the foot of his bed and walked to the door. "I'm going to get ready for bed, I'm tired." And he walked out the door; Harry heard him trudge down the steps to the bathroom.

Putting on his own nightclothes, Harry waited until Ron returned to head down to the bathroom himself. He and Ron didn't' talk; when he came back Ron was in bed, facing away from Harry's camp bed. Harry got into the bed and lay there for a while, thinking about Mr. Weasley's uncle and the Weasley fortune until he heard Ron snoring. He rolled onto his side and within a few minutes he was fast asleep.

Hermione was distant to both Ron and Harry for the next few days, even though Ron apologized to his father the morning following the revelation about Uncle Archie.

The next several days were tense for Harry; the Ministry hearing was less than two weeks away, Hermione was barely talking to him, and Ron had become obsessed with going through the boxes in the attic, looking for more information about Archie Weasley and details of his disappearance.

He busied himself doing chores for Mrs. Weasley: sweeping the kitchen, cleaning windows, washing up after meals; in short, the kinds of things he'd done at the Dursleys since he'd been old enough for his aunt to put him to work. The difference at the Burrow, of course, was that Mrs. Weasley was appreciative of the help he gave rather than critical, as Petunia had been.

Finally, a little more than a week after they'd started, the Burrow was as dusted and swept and mopped as it could get, and Harry lapsed back into moping about as Hermione and Ron both ignored him; Hermione with her face continually in one book after another and Ron digging through box after box pulled down from the attic. The only other person around he could talk to, Ginny, Harry felt somehow ashamed to approach, since he had broken off their relationship so he could pursue Voldemort. He would feel hypocritical if he tried to engage her now, after that. It had been frustrating to think how much time they had wasted by not getting together long before this past spring. Harry couldn't help wondering, however, how much harder it would have been to break up with Ginny if he'd been with her for a year or two before learning about Voldemort's Horcruxes and what had to be done with them, and him.

The latest word from Mr. Weasley, while encouraging, had left Harry feeling somehow ill at ease, as if there was something being left unsaid. Mr. Weasley had said that Rufus Scrimgeour had never appointed a new head for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement since Amelia Bones' murder last year; it had fallen under his direct supervision since then. Harry hadn't exactly been on good terms with Scrimgeour; the last time they'd met Scrimgeour had walked away from him angrily after Harry rebuffed his efforts to recruit him as a Ministry "mascot." But the word, from more than one source, had been that Scrimgeour was tough but fair. Even Dumbledore had thought that the Minister was more able to recognize the threat that Voldemort posed than Cornelius Fudge had been.

A week after they had learned about Archie Weasley, Harry, finding Hermione absorbed as usual in a large book and Ron off in the attic again, went to their room and flopped onto his bed, bored. So bored, in fact, that he was considering getting out Ron's copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_ (as his was still in the Room of Requirement) and thumbing through the potions there for something to do. At that moment, however, he heard Ron running down the stairway from the attic. "Harry!" he shouted as he hit the bottom step and bolted past their door.

"In here," Harry called, and Ron's footsteps stopped and rapidly retraced themselves. He threw open the door a moment later and barreled in waving something in one hand.

"I found this in one of the boxes," Ron said excitedly, handing Harry what turned out to be a decades-old copy of the _Daily Prophet_. Buried inside was a small article about the disappearance of Archie Weasley a few days before. Harry read,

Local Wizard Disappears, Family Discovers Money Missing

**A**rchie Weasley, youngest son of the late Conan Weasley and his recently departed wife, Amadora, was last seen at a birthday celebration for one of his nephews, Arthur, recently married to Molly Prewett, it was reported by Archie's older brother Septimus, Arthur's father.

Close on the heels of this information, it was reported by Septimus's older brothers, Lucius and Hieronymus, that the Weasley fortune was missing from its Gringotts accounts, established in their father's name some 65 years before, and which had been entrusted to younger brother Archie upon the death of his father Conan.

"It's not hard to imagine what happened," Lucius Weasley said after the accounts were discovered empty. "Archie always was a spendthrift." "Our parents were both trusting souls," added Heironymus. "They believed that Archie would one day change his ways. Unfortunately for the family, he didn't."

Lucius and Hieronymus, both involved in the import/export of magical commodities, said that Archie was "jealous of their prosperity" and probably saw the family fortune as the only way to attain enough gold for himself. "He need only have come to us for help," Lucius told the _Daily Prophet_. "We would have seen him well taken care of. It is a shame he chose to disappear with family gold rather than sharing the inheritance with his brothers."

Septimus Weasley, on the other hand, had different idea about what had occurred. "Archie was a very giving, caring person, and very generous with his own money. Fortune meant very little to him, especially if in acquiring it one loses sight of what having wealth means. I do not know what happened to the money, but I am quite sure that Archie had nothing to do with its disappearance."

When asked to comment on the situation, Artag, the newly-appointed Chief Goblin and President of Gringotts Wizarding Bank, where Mrs. Weasley kept her gold, replied, "Unless you'd like to see a _very_ thorough listing of your paper's account history in _Witch Weekly_ magazine, take off, and stop asking impertinent questions about things that aren't your business."

"The _Prophet_ hasn't changed much in 30 years, has it?" Harry said, looking up at Ron. "They were dragging people through the muck then just like they do today."

"Now look who they're taking the mickey out of here." Ron thrust another paper at him. Harry saw that it was dated about a year after the first one he'd just read. Emblazoned across the top of the front page was the headline:

Weasley Brothers Convicted of Bank, Trading Fraud Scheme

**L**ucius and Hieronymus Weasley, both of London, were accused, tried and convicted of numerous counts of fraud in connection with their import/export business, Dragon's Eye Imports, Ltd., Ministry officials reported late yesterday.

Lucius Weasley, 41, and his brother Hieronymus, 38, both repeatedly denied the accusations, although Ministry officials were able to provide numerous examples of contraband found in their possession at a warehouse in the West India Docks. The street value of the contraband was estimated at between 5000 and 7000 Galleons. Lucius Weasley was sentenced to 5 years at Azkaban prison; his brother Hieronymus was sentenced to 4 years.

Minister of Magic Ezekiel Bones told the _Prophet_, "Our Ministry personnel are working ceaselessly to protect both the Wizarding and Muggle communities from unscrupulous businessmen like the Weasley brothers, who may have been responsible for delivering hundreds, if not thousands, of restricted items into Muggle-baiting hands, many of them non-wizards such as goblins and dwarves. We are looking into all activities by the Weasley brothers and their other family members."

_(Please turn to page 3, column 2)_

"It goes on like that," Ron said before Harry could turn the page, "But essentially it shows that Septimus's and Archie's older brothers were trying to put the blame for the money disappearing onto them."

"And you think it was these two done it?" Harry deduced.

"None other." Ron sat down on his bed, looking at the picture on the front page. Lucius and Hieronymus were shown, each chained to a chair that reminded Harry strongly of the one in Courtroom Ten at the Ministry of Magic. Both men were shouting angrily, at each other and at the members of the Wizengamot in front of whom they evidently sat.

"So," Harry said mildly, "Decided your dad was right, did you?"

Ron looked at him for a moment, a sheepish grin spreading over his face. "Well," he said finally, "I know he really liked his uncle, and I've had a chat with Mum as well; she thought he was alright too, though she only met him a few times. She said Dad couldn't say enough good things about him. I guess I'd be a right git to think I knew everything there was to know about him based on what Dad told us that night."

Looking around, Ron leaned in close, motioning for Harry to do the same. Harry did so, wondering what was up. "The thing is," Ron said conspiratorially. "What if nobody ever found all that gold, Harry? If the older Weasleys hid it, and never got out of Azkaban, it might still be hidden somewhere."

"How do you know they never got out?" Harry wondered.

"Mum's got the Weasley genealogy records, she's been compiling a book of them. She got interested when she saw the Black family tapestry in number 12 Grimmauld Place. I looked up Lucius and Hieronymus Weasley and both of them were listed as dying in Azkaban within two years after they'd gone in."

"So you're thinking about looking for this gold, then?" Harry actually approved of the idea; it would keep Ron, Harry hoped, out of harm's way while he hunted for the Horcruxes. Harry could probably convince Hermione to take care of Ron, so both of them would not be targeted as his friends, something Harry was wondering more and more about.

"Well, after we help you, Harry." Ron looked askance, somewhat embarrassed. "I guess… well, I thought we might… well…" his words trailed off. But Harry understood what he was thinking.

"Sure, mate," he said with a genuine compassion for Ron. "We can have a go at that too, once Voldemort's dead."

Ron smiled even as he involuntarily winced at the name. "How about we get up a Quidditch game with Ginny and Hermione?"

"I'm game if they are."

But Ginny was talking with her mother in the Burrow's kitchen. They both stopped as Harry and Ron walked in, and Ginny's eyes were red, as if she'd been crying. Harry and Ron looked at each other and decided not to get into it. They backed out of the kitchen and went looking for Hermione, whom they found, as usual lately, reading.

Hermione merely looked up from the book in her lap and said "No, thanks," coolly before looking away again. Harry and Ron shrugged and went out for a while anyway, hoping the exercise would do them some good.

The following morning, after breakfast, Harry finally decided it was high time to talk with Hermione about her attitude toward him and Ron. He found her, as usual, curled up in a chair in the living room with a large book in her lap. He marched into the room, sat down in a nearby chair, and looked steadily at Hermione.

After a few moments, Hermione looked up. "Oh, hi, Harry," she said, and went back to reading. After another minute Harry cleared his throat noisily, and she looked up again, this time slightly irritated. "What is it?"

"That's what I wanted to ask you," Harry replied, jumping right in. "What kind of bug have you got up your bum?"

Hermione jerked upright; the book slammed shut in her lap. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you've been avoiding me and Ron for days now, even when we've tried being nice to you," Harry shot back. "You haven't said a dozen words to us in days."

"I don't know if you've been paying attention, Harry, but next Monday you go into the Ministry for your hearing," Hermione said, looking at him sternly. "You should be getting ready for that!"

"What's there to get ready for?" Harry spread his hands. "They're going to ask what happened, you and Ron'll tell them, and that'll be that."

Hermione sighed in exasperation. "Harry, you know right well that's not how it's going to go. Something's going to foul it up – either Scrimgeour will have changed his mind and decided to prosecute you for the charges, or that Hopkirk woman will have been replaced with someone who wants to make an example of you."

"And what can I do about that, d'you think?" Harry asked belligerently.

"You can think about your defense!" Hermione picked up the book in her lap and shook it in his face. "But you haven't, have you? What d'you think I've been doing for the past few days?"

Harry looked at the title of the book Hermione was waving about. It was _Ministry Procedures and Practices for Efficient Bureaucracy, Volume VIII: Courtroom Procedure_. "You've been getting my defense ready?" he asked, surprised.

"Brilliant deduction, Sherlock," Hermione said acidly, letting the book fall back in her lap. "I'm also looking at what Ron and I will be up against. I think we're going to have a rougher time of it than you will."

"Because of what Mr. Weasley said?" Harry asked, remembering how happy Ron's father had been that the lady at the Improper Use of Magic Office thought that there would be no problems at the hearing, based on the details she'd heard from other sources.

"Partly," Hermione agreed. "But you have two people, both of age, who will testify that you did no magic in either of the situations where you're charged with it. On the other hand," she added matter-of-factly. "Ron and I can only testify for each other, and our testimony may seem to be self-serving."

Harry frowned. "But I can testify as well to what you did, Hermione. You and Ron both."

"Yes but you'll have to watch out when doing that," she cautioned him. "They may try to twist what you say or lead you into saying things other than what you mean."

"I had a taste of that two years ago," Harry agreed. "Fudge was trying to tie me up in a nice little bundle and throw me into the dustbin. I was lucky Dumbledore was there."

Harry remembered how elated he had felt when Dumbledore had strode into Courtroom Ten just as his hearing began, even though the Wizengamot had changed the time and venue of the hearing at the last moment. Even though Dumbledore had never looked directly at him (Harry learned later that he was afraid of Voldemort using Harry against him), Harry had been heartened to have him there, on his side, helping him.

"Yes," Hermione nodded. "I wish he could be there next Monday." A silence fell after she said this; Hermione seemed uncomfortable that she'd brought it up.

"So do I," Harry said, with a quiet smile. Hermione brightened at this; Harry pointed at the book on her lap. "Tell me your plan."

She did. All the information she'd absorbed in the past few days gushed out of her as she detailed strategies both for Harry's defense and her and Ron's. She'd worked out an entire list of questions they might be asked, about whether they were aware of the Muggles around them, what their intentions were at the time they did magic, and whether they had chosen spells that minimized Muggle knowledge of magic itself, should an _Obliviate_ spell prove to be untenable.

Before long Harry's head was spinning from all the ideas being jammed into it. "Whoa," he said, when she finally finished. "Sounds like you've thought of just about everything."

"_Just_ _about_ everything?" Hermione's question had an edge to it. "Do you think I've forgotten anything?"

"I dunno about that," Harry admitted. "But what happens if they don't play fair at the Ministry?"

Hermione looked nonplussed. "What d'you mean? They _have_ to do things fair at the Ministry!"

"Yeah, it was really fair of them to send us Umbridge, wasn't it?" Harry said pointedly.

"Alright, your point," she admitted. "But if they do anything dodgy we can appeal the decision, unless it's a full court hearing, and then we'll be before the entire Wizengamot – it'll be a lot harder to pull anything in front of them, as long as we speak up and don't let them override normal procedure."

Ron walked into the room at that moment, saw the two of them and said, "Oy, what's up?" Hermione launched into retelling her battle plan for the Ministry, her coolness toward Ron now forgotten. Harry didn't even mind listening to it all over, he was just happy they were talking again.


	7. The Hearing Redux

Chapter 7

**The Hearing Redux**

Monday arrived and Harry awoke with an odd premonition, a sense of foreboding about the hearing that afternoon. He put it off as jitters; it was perfectly normal that he'd be nervous about a disciplinary hearing, even more so if he were guilty of the charges he'd been accused of.

Sitting up slowly, Harry reached over and shook Ron, who was still snoring in his bed. "Ron," he said groggily. "Breakfast."

Ron stopped snoring. "I'm up," he said, then began snoring again. Harry pulled on a T-shirt and jeans, put on his trainers, then went over and shook him again. Ron awoke with a start.

"Ready for breakfast?"

"Yeah, I could use it," Ron said, rubbing his stomach. "I feel like I'm starving this morning." He jumped up and threw on jeans over his pajama bottoms; he was already wearing a T-shirt. They both went down to the Burrow's kitchen, where Mrs. Weasley was already fixing eggs. Mr. Weasley was at the kitchen table.

"Good morning, boys," he said cheerfully as they entered. "The big day, isn't it?" he smiled at Harry with a confidence Harry wished he could feel as easily.

"Good morning, Harry dear," Mrs. Weasley said. "Good morning, dear," she added to her son. "D'you both fancy some eggs this morning?"

"Yes, please," they both said, and within seconds both had dug into the mound of hot eggs, toast and glasses of pumpkin juice that she placed in front of them as well.

Mr. Weasley checked his watch, then stood. "I'm going to push off," he said. He turned to Harry and Ron. "If you and Hermione get a chance, pop by my offices before heading to your hearing. I'll let you know of any developments I hear this morning. Bye, dear," he said to Mrs. Weasley, kissing her on the cheek. He picked up his briefcase and was off.

"Is Hermione up yet?" Ron asked his mother between mouthfuls of egg and toast.

"She might be," Mrs. Weasley said, staring upward in the general direction of Ginny's bedroom. "But she hasn't been down for breakfast yet." She continued to stare upward.

Ron followed her gaze, then looked back at her. "Did you get yourself a Moody-Eye, Mum? Having a look?"

"What?" Mrs. Weasley shook herself. "Oh, of course not, don't be silly, Ron." But Harry thought he caught her momentarily glance toward him. Was something going on with Ginny, he wondered?

Hermione and Ginny appeared a couple of minutes later and seated themselves at the table with murmured "Good mornings" to Harry, Ron and Mrs. Weasley, who produced plates of food for them.

"When d'you think want to leave?" Ron asked Harry who, with his mouth full of eggs, merely shrugged.

"A bit early," Hermione suggested. "We can have a look round Diagon Alley before we go to the Ministry offices."

"Oh, can I go too, Mum?" Ginny said at once.

Mrs. Weasley shook her head. "No, Ginny, you aren't allowed to go in with them at the hearing."

"But I can stay in Dad's office! Or I could wait at Fred and George's! _Please_, Mum!" Ginny wheedled.

"Oh, all right," Mrs. Weasley relented. "I'd like a chance to get out and about today, if the truth be known."

Soon breakfast was eaten and they were preparing to leave. Mrs. Weasley was puzzling over how to get them all to Diagon Alley. "We can just Apparate to the Leaky Cauldron, Mum," Ron said impatiently.

"You, Harry and Ginny still can't Apparate," she said sternly. "I don't want us to get separated."

"I can Side-Along with Hermione," Ron said, nodding toward her. Hermione looked surprised but nodded agreeably.

"Mum, Harry and I can use Floo Powder to get to Fred and George's and just wait for you lot there," Ginny pointed out.

"I thought the Floo Network was off," Harry frowned.

Ginny smiled puckishly. "It is, but Dad's connection on the Floo Regulation Panel got us connected to the shop on the sly."

"Mmm," Mrs. Weasley pondered this. "You'll both stay at the shop here 'til we get there, then?"

They both nodded meekly, then looked at each other and grinned. "I saw that," Mrs. Weasley shook a finger at them, but then smiled wryly and turned back to the others. "Right. Let's get going, then." She waved Ron and Hermione out the door, then turned back to say "We'll see you at Fred and George's!" before pulling the door shut behind her.

It occurred to Harry that he was now alone with Ginny for the first time since they'd talked at Dumbledore's funeral. He looked at her, uncertain what to expect.

She seemed to read his thoughts. "Don't worry, I'm not upset. At least, not at _you_," she added.

"Who are you upset with, then?" Harry asked immediately.

"Myself, I suppose. Oh, I raked you over pretty good with Mum," she said, not at all abashed. "Called you all sorts of perfectly horrid things, telling her how selfish you were, or whatever. I'm sorry."

"Not a problem," Harry said. "I sometimes wonder just how selfish I really am_,_ doing all this."

Ginny nodded, apparently satisfied. "Right. Well, you know who'll be waiting for you when you've finished with what you're doing."

Harry stepped up to her. Her eyes were bright and fierce as she looked into his, and again he wished he could just let everything go and be with her. He touched the side of her face, and her eyes closed. "I will come back to you when I'm finished, I promise," he whispered to her.

How long they stood like that Harry couldn't tell, but Ginny's eyes finally opened. "Well," she said, exhaling gustily. "We'd better get a move on or they'll wonder what we've been up to."

They each took a handful of the powder and threw it into the Weasley fireplace. Bright green flames shot up in it and Ginny stepped into them, shouting "Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes!" She began to spin very fast and disappeared. Harry stepped in behind Ginny and did the same, enduring the sucking, spinning sensation of Floo-travel until he found himself next to her again as he stepped out of the fireplace in Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

"Welcome, young lovers," came a familiar voice, and Fred Weasley stepped up to shake Harry's hand, then tweaked Ginny's nose, who promptly pulled her wand out.

"No more of that, Fred," she warned, shaking her wand threateningly at him. "I'm not twelve any more."

"Aaah, our ickle Ginnykins is a woman now, is she?" George said sweetly from behind her.

"Knock off the 'ickle Ginnykins,' nonsense, will ya?" she said irritably. But she put her wand away.

"Right," Fred said crisply. "So what brings you and young Mister Potter to our fair shop?"

George was looking at Harry appraisingly. "Today's your hearing, isn't it, Harry?"

"At two this afternoon," Harry replied, nodding. "I guess we decided to make a shopping trip out of it," he added, a tinge of irritation creeping into his voice.

"Who's running the hearing?" Fred asked, now serious.

"As far as your dad's been able to find out, Scrimgeour himself, since he hasn't filled the position of Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," Harry said.

"You and he aren't exactly best pals, are you?" Ginny put in.

"No," Harry conceded. "But your dad thinks Scrimgeour will give me a fair hearing."

Verity, Fred and George's employee, stepped into the doorway. "Mr. Weasley and Mr. Weasley," she said. "Your mum's out here with some friends. She said to let you know."

"Thanks, Verity," Fred said. "We'll be out in a sec." George and Ginny walked out ahead of them, but Harry caught Fred's eye and hung back.

"I want to ask you or George something," Harry said quickly in a low voice. "How can I keep my wand safe if they decide to find me guilty no matter what?"

"Expecting some jiggery pokery, are you?" Fred said knowingly.

"I'm expecting _something_," Harry said, rubbing an itch at the back of his head. "If Scrimgeour destroys my wand it'll be difficult to come up with a replacement."

"We can fix that quick enough," Fred said. He stepped over to a shelf marked "Self Defense" and pulled a wand out of a box. "George and I were thinking about a new kind of wand a few weeks ago and we came up with this." He held it out to Harry.

Taking it, Harry saw nothing more than an average-looking wooden wand. "What's it do?" he asked.

"Touch tips with your own wand and say '_Exemplaros_,' " Fred suggested. Taking out his wand, Harry did so; instantly, the wand Fred had given him turned into an exact duplicate of his own.

"Wow," Harry breathed, looking at the duplicate. It was now virtually indistinguishable from his own wand; he could even see a slight nick in it he'd made some time in the past.

"I would defy even old man Ollivander himself to tell which of those wands was the real one," Fred said proudly, "short of trying to do magic with it. The wood, the core, everything about your wand is perfectly copied by our Wand-Mate. If you think your wand is going to be taken, just put the Wand-Mate in your wand pocket and keep your real wand somewhere else 'til it's safe."

"Excellent," Harry said happily. A thought occurred to him. "Can I tell them apart without having to try a spell?"

"Yep. Easy enough," Fred said, taking the fake from Harry. "Hold your own wand and say the word '_Adicio'_ to yourself." Harry did this and felt his wand buzz and shake slightly in his hand. "Just a quick charm to see if a wand will respond to you," Fred explained. "Now try it with this one." They swapped wands and Harry said the word to himself several times. The fake wand didn't respond at all.

"If you want to keep both wands in the same pocket that's how you can tell 'em apart," Fred said, giving Harry back his own wand. "C'mon, we'd better get out front or people will start to talk about us." He led a chuckling Harry out onto the main floor of the shop where George and Ginny were talking to Ron, Hermione and Mrs. Weasley near the front door.

"There you two are," Mrs. Weasley said when she saw them approaching. "I thought we'd have to come find you! Where would you like to go shopping first, dears?"

"The bookstore," Harry and Hermione said at the same time, while Ron said, "Quality Quidditch Supplies!" then "Ouch!" as Hermione trod on his foot.

Looking at her watch, Mrs. Weasley said, "Well, we might do both if we hurry, if we want to have time for a bite before you're off to the Ministry for your hearing, Harry dear."

"What's this?" Hermione said suddenly, noticing a bin filled with hats, capes, and other garments, labeled, "**Famous Wizards' Costumes**."

"Oh, those," Fred said. "We had a lot of hats left from our Shield Hat inventory. We stopped selling them to the public," he explained, "because of dodgy folk trying to get hold of them, like those werewolves at Bill and Fleur's wedding."

"The Invisibility Hats aren't selling much now. But we had a brain wave," George said, taking one of the hats out of the bin; a tag attached to it said _Albus Dumbledore Hat Mask_. "What if the hats, instead of making you invisible, made you look like a famous witch or wizard? That's what our Famous Wizards' Hat Masks do. For example –" Fred dropped the hat on the nearest person's head, who happened to be Harry, "– _voil__á_!"

Harry's features began to change. His hair went long and white, a beard sprouted from his chin, his round glasses became half-moon spectacles, and his nose lengthened and became rather crooked. Everyone gasped at the change.

"My word!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed. "He looks exactly like Professor Dumbledore!"

Ron was trying not to laugh. "Yeah, Dumbledore in jeans and trainers!" Ginny and Hermione had both covered their mouths and were looking at each other, wide-eyed.

Harry couldn't see his own face, of course, but he looked down at his clothes and grinned, imagining how comical it must be to see their old headmaster wearing everyday clothes.

Fred had reached into the bin and pulled out a cloak with a tag that said "_Albus Dumbledore Robe Costume_." "To complete the ensemble, we add this," he said, throwing the cloak over Harry's shoulders. Harry's clothes were replaced by the more normal (for Dumbledore) deep purple wizard's robe. It was as if Dumbledore had returned from the grave.

"That is amazing magic," Hermione breathed, impressed.

Fred and George both bowed low. "Just ten Galleons for the hat," Fred said. "And four for the cloak."

"And if you buy the set we knock off two Galleons," George added. "They're sure to be a hit for costume parties if you're pressed for time to come up with a good disguise."

"Who else have you got?" Harry asked.

"Godric Gryffindor, of course, and Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff," Fred rattled off the names. "Don't imagine we'll have much call for Slytherin."

"Or You-Know-Who," George added darkly. "But we've also got Merlin, Circe, and a few current-day favorites like Celestina Warbeck, Fleur Delacour –" Ginny rolled her eyes "— and some Quidditch players like Gwenog Jones, Aidan Lynch, and Viktor Krum."

There was a crash outside the shop, and everyone turned to see two elderly witches staring through the window at them in shock. One, a shorter, plump witch in a maroon robe who had dropped her package, turned and spoke to her companion, a thin, iron-haired woman wearing a deep blue robe and a matching traveling cloak, who shook her head slowly. The short one stepped to the door of the shop and the other followed her, still shaking her head.

As she entered the Weasleys' shop, the short witch's mouth dropped open; she stared in amazement at Harry, who suddenly realized that he was still wearing the Dumbledore mask and cloak.

"A-Albus," the shorter one stammered. "Is that really y-_you_?"

At that same moment Harry recognized the two women. They had been in Courtroom Ten at his last hearing, waving at Dumbledore when he presented himself before the Wizengamot.

"No, ma'am," Harry said apologetically, taking off the hat to reveal his own features. "It's just a disguise."

The taller one looked disapproving, but the shorter one was clearly relieved. "Merlin's beard, young man, you gave me quite a start!" she said, now laughing at her own shocked reaction. "I've known Albus Dumbledore a very long time; I thought for a second he'd come back to collect Tabitha and me!"

"Don't be silly, Verdani," the taller witch said curtly. "You knew it couldn't be Dumbledore. You were at his funeral, after all."

"Oh I know that," retorted the other. "He was always on about how peaceful he hoped things would be once he'd gone on."

"Excuse me," Harry interrupted them; both witches looked at him inquiringly. "I'm Harry Potter. Weren't you both in the courtroom the day the Wizengamot had my hearing, two years ago?"

The shorter witch searched his face. "Ah! It _is _you, then! I wondered why you looked familiar. Do you remember him, Tabitha?" she said, turning to the taller witch, who nodded.

"I do. I was surprised Dumbledore actually took time out of his schedule to appear at a hearing for one of his students. I always thought," she continued, "that Dumbledore was just using that as an excuse to give Fudge his comeuppance before the Wizengamot. It appears there is more to the story than meets the eye, isn't there?" she asked shrewdly, her eyes on Harry.

"Yes, ma'am," Harry agreed. "A lot more." He looked at both of them. "Are you going to be at my hearing this afternoon?"

"You have another hearing before the Wizengamot, dear?" the shorter witch asked blankly. The taller witch said nothing.

"Yes, I – well, I thought you would both – I mean, you were at the first one," Harry fumbled over himself trying to find the right words. "That one was supposed to be in Madam Bones's office, but it was changed to that – that courtroom and in front of the full court."

"Yes, what a shameful miscarriage of justice that was," the taller one said, with some disgust. "Cornelius Fudge trying to discredit Dumbledore and shore up his political power, and not caring who he had to step on to do so. Absolutely disgraceful."

"Besides that," the shorter witch added. "I don't think Rufus will even be _at_ the Ministry this afternoon. He has some business up north, I believe. We had court this morning with him on a meeting of some importance, in the matter of –"

But the taller witch cut her off. "Verdi, you know better than to discuss cases openly, before they're settled," she said reprovingly.

"Sorry, Tabby," the shorter one muttered.

"I'm Elder Skuld of the Wizengamot," the tall witch said, "and this is Elder Norncombe. We apologize again for disturbing you. Come, Verdani." She turned and strode regally from the shop. The shorter witch scurried to keep up, but she stopped at the door and gave them a little wave and a smile.

"Good luck at your hearing, dear!" she said to Harry, who nodded and watched as they continued on their way down Diagon Alley.

Ron, looking at Harry and Hermione, said, "Did we miss an owl or something, then?"

"I don't know," Hermione said slowly. "But this looks very suspicious."

"Maybe we should head over to the Ministry right now," Harry said. "We can talk to Mr. Weasley, see if he can find out what's going on."

"I can do that alone," Mrs. Weasley said. Her manner had changed; she was now very crisp, very businesslike. "It would be too suspicious for all of us to show up there at once." To Ginny she said, "Stay here with your brothers."

"Can't I come with you?" Ginny said, disappointed. "It won't look suspicious if just you and I stop by."

"I said _stay_ _here_!" Mrs. Weasley said sharply, and Ginny lapsed into a sullen silence. She turned to Harry, who had taken off the cloak and dropped it and the hat back into the bin. "Harry, dear, you should stay here as well, you shouldn't be off alone anywhere before we clear up what's happening."

"I won't go off alone," Harry promised. He and Ron exchanged a momentary look.

"Very good," Mrs. Weasley said, rummaging through her purse. "You should all eat lunch while you're waiting; not too much, though. You'll want to stay alert for the hearing. Oh! Here, Harry." She produced a Galleon from the purse and handed it to Harry, who looked at it, then her, curiously.

"What's this for?" he asked, perplexed. "I already have money, Mrs. Weasley."

"I know, dear, but if I need to contact you a message will appear on the coin," she explained; behind her, Hermione's mouth had fallen open in shock, although Mrs. Weasley didn't notice. "Mind you keep an eye on it. If I don't flash you, you'd all better come to the Ministry just in case I haven't had a chance to send a message. Come to Arthur's office before you go to the hearing." She hugged Ginny, who hugged her back perfunctorily as she was still sulking, then bustled out the door and toward the exit.

Hermione took the coin from Harry's hand and looked at it in disbelief. "I can't believe it! How did she come up with _my_ idea?"

Fred and George looked at her rather sheepishly. "Well, that's on us, I guess," Fred said apologetically, rubbing his chin. "We mentioned it to Lupin a year ago or so; he thought it was such a great idea he made up a set of coins for the Order of the Phoenix. Very advanced magic, though – any of the coins can send a message as well as receive it, and it can be any words that'll fit on the coin, not just a prearranged set of them."

"We've been wanting to do something like them to sell in the shop for some time now," George mentioned. "But the magic is hideously complex. Plus, we want to use something other than coins but there's not much else that's likely to be in anybody's pocket." Harry took the coin back from Hermione and stuck it in his pocket.

Ron and Hermione went to one of the nearby cafés and picked up sandwiches for everyone to eat. After lunch, Harry and the others changed into their Wizarding robes, although Harry was wondering how smart it was going to look walking through London dressed in long, flowing robe in the middle of July. He sat with Mrs. Weasley's coin, alternately flipping it idly and examining it for any changes. It was well after one p.m. when they finished with lunch; Ron and Hermione sat with Harry, anxiously waiting for word from Ron's mother or father – or anyone.

"Too bad she didn't tell us how the ruddy thing works," Ron muttered. He sat up quickly. "Say – I bet Fred or George could figure it out quick enough."

"Probably not," Hermione said nervously. "We're going to have to leave soon if we're going to make it to the Ministry by two."

"How far is it?" Ron asked.

"Several blocks from the Leaky Cauldron," Hermione murmured. "If only we could Apparate –" she said absently, then looked quickly at Harry. "Oh, Harry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to –"

"Don't worry about it," Harry said. "It's not important."

"You know where we're going, then?" Ron asked him in a worried tone.

"Er –" Harry realized he didn't actually know where the visitor's entrance to the Ministry of Magic was, even though he'd been there twice before: once with Mr. Weasley for his first hearing, when they'd taken the underground from Grimmauld Place, and the following June when he and a group of students from the D.A. – Dumbledore's Army – rode on thestrals from Hogwarts, to rescue Sirius, which had turned out to be a trick to get Harry into the Department of Mysteries to recover the Prophecy so Voldemort's Death Eaters could take it to him. "Oh, hell," he said, annoyed.

Hermione sighed with exasperation. "We'd better get going, then," she said briskly, gathering the papers she'd brought with her.

But Fred came to the rescue. "Here," he said, writing down instructions on how to get to the telephone booth. "It's not a far walk, but you'll need to get in once you get there." Turning to Harry, he shook his hand. "Good luck, mate," he said soberly, but with a wink.

Harry, Ron and Hermione walked to the exit of Diagon Alley and out through the Leaky Cauldron, waving to Tom the barman, then out onto Charing Cross Road. Turning north, they walked for some ways before Hermione indicated they should turn east. Still glancing every so often at the coin Mrs. Weasley had given him, he followed Hermione through the streets of London until they came upon the entrance to the Underground station where he and Mr. Weasley had arrived upon his first visit to the Ministry. "I've been here before," Harry said, heartened at seeing a familiar landmark.

"Not too much further," Hermione said, concentrating on her instructions. The street was bustling with Muggles and cars going past them and on about their own business. Hermione turned up the same side road Mr. Weasley had, and they continued on. Ron looked nearly as awed as his father had at the tall buildings and gleaming automobiles, the strangely dressed (to him) men and women walking by them.

A few minutes later, the buildings had begun to look both smaller and shabbier, and they passed by the pub Harry remembered, its dumpster overflowing as usual. Nearby was the old red telephone booth, still looking rather abused. Hermione sighed in relief, and Harry smiled thinly; the phrase _out of the frying pan_ leaped into his head unbidden.

"Let's get on with it, then," Hermione said, motioning to Harry. He stepped in, making room for them to budge in behind him, and dialed the numbers 62442: M-A-G-I-C. A cool female voice spoke, seeming to come from all around them rather than the receiver. "Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business."

"Harry Potter, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley; we're here for my disciplinary hearing at 2 p.m. today," Harry said as clearly as his now-dry throat would let him.

"Thank you," said the cool female voice. "Visitors, please take the badges and attach them to the front of your robes."

As they did this, the cool voice continued, "Visitors to the Ministry, you are required to submit to a search and present your wands for registration at the security desk, located at the far end of the Atrium."

The floor shuddered and they started moving downward, the light outside the telephone booth slowly disappearing until there was only black and the grinding sound of the booth. Harry could hear Ron and Hermione's nervous breathing in the darkness.

Finally a crack of light appeared at their feet, expanding as they descended until they were once again fully illuminated, and the booth came to a halt.

"The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant day," the woman's voice said; Harry stepped out, followed closely by Ron and Hermione, both looking around in awe. There had barely been time during their first visit to look around, much less take in the size and activities going on in the Ministry Atrium. Wizards and witches were appearing and disappearing into fireplaces set along the length of the hall, and a new set of statues in the Fountain of Magical Brethren had replaced the ones destroyed by the battle between Dumbledore and Voldemort over a year ago.

"Let's get this over with," Harry said between his teeth. He headed toward the security station, Ron and Hermione hurrying along behind him. Stepping up to it, he found the same wizard Harry remembered from before, still in his peacock blue robe but now sporting a short, badly-trimmed beard. He looked up at the three of them with half-lidded eyes, evidently quite bored, or sleepy, or both.

"Your business?" he finally said in a tired voice.

"I'm here for a hearing at two p.m.," Harry said quickly, noting the time on a cuckoo clock on the wall behind the guard. They had barely ten minutes left to get to the hearing, and they still had to find the Department of Magical Law Enforcement's offices.

The wizard stood lazily. "Each of you step over here," he said, indicating a spot near him. Harry looked at Hermione and Ron, wanting one of them to go first. Ron looked back at him skeptically but Hermione nodded, urging him, and Ron finally moved timidly in front of the guard. He passed a long, golden rod in front and back of Ron, then frowned and pointed at one of his pockets. "What's in there?" he asked curtly.

"What?" Ron looked down. "Oh – er, it's just –" he reached in and produced a handful of Dungbombs. Looking up at the guard, Ron said haltingly, "Er, these – these aren't mine, they're my brothers'."

"They just happened to fall in your pocket, did they?" The guard smirked, and held out his hand. Ron glumly handed them over and the guard tossed them into a small try.

"Wand," he said next, and Ron produced his wand. The guard put it on a small brass instrument shaped like a set of scales with only one dish. It began to vibrate and a few seconds later a slip of parchment appeared, which the wizard picked up and read. "Fourteen inches, unicorn-hair core, been in use about four years, correct?"

"Uh, yeah," Ron said. The guard handed him his wand back, thrust the slip of parchment onto a small brass spindle, and motioned for the next person.

Hermione stepped up and was searched. She had no contraband on her. Taking her wand, the guard repeated the examination and read off the results. "Twelve inches, dragon-heartstring core, in use for six years. Correct?"

"Yes," said Hermione, taking her wand back. Finally it was Harry's turn to be searched. He stepped up to the guard, who ran the golden rod around him, then hesitated and passed it by him again.

"Is something wrong?" Harry said, trying to sound casual.

The guard hesitated, then shook his head. "Nothin', just didn't get a clear reading from your wand at first. Your wand," he said, holding out his hand.

It was time to test Fred's special wand. Harry reached into his pocket and grasped one of them, thinking the word _Adicio_. To be sure he grasped the other wand, pretending to fumble, and repeated the word in his head. His wand vibrated reassuringly and Harry quickly brought out the other one. "Sorry," he mumbled to the guard, who shrugged it off and placed Harry's wand on the instrument, then read off the slip of parchment that appeared a moment later.

"Eleven inches, phoenix feather core, been in use for six years. Correct?"

"Yes," Harry said, taking back the wand, hiding his elation. Now, if need be, he could hand over the fake wand and still keep his own! "Thanks," he said to the wizard, and they began to move toward the elevators beyond the golden gates.

"Hold it," the guard said, and they stopped. "You'll need an escort." He tapped a piece of parchment on his desk, and it quickly folded itself a small paper airplane. Tapping it again, it stuck to the tip of his wand and he launched it into the air; it flew past Harry's ear and he watched it as it floated determinedly down the hall.

"We don't have much time," Hermione said nervously, noting that the clock had only a few minutes before two now."

The guard had sat back down, unconcerned. "Don't worry," he said in a bored tone. "They'll still be up there when you get there." He chuckled to himself at this, apparently finding it amusing.

A few seconds later another guard approached them, and Harry got another shock as he saw who it was: Marcus Flint, the captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team during Harry's first year at Hogwarts, was trudging toward them. Seeing them, his trollish face cracked into a wide grin.

"Well, well, well," he said with a satisfied smirk, standing before them. Even though Harry had grown himself in the past couple of years since he'd last seen Flint, the ex-Slytherin was still a massive, imposing figure. "If it isn't Mr. Harry Potter, _and_ friends," he said, with a leer at Hermione. Beside him, Ron bristled. "In a spot of trouble, are you then, Potter?" Flint continued with a sneer.

"We're supposed to be at the offices of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at two," Harry said coolly, not letting Flint's manner upset him.

"Let's get going, then," Flint said, jerking a thumb toward the golden gates, beyond which were several golden-grilled lifts, one of which would take them to the second floor where the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was located.

When one of the lifts opened, Flint stepped up as the occupants vacated and held up a hand stopping other wizards and witches from entering. "Sorry," he said smoothly, motioning Harry, Ron and Hermione into the lift. "Important business. Harry Potter here is going to another disciplinary meeting. He's almost late." Flint stepped into the lift, smiling evilly, and the doors closed.

Inwardly Harry was furious at Flint for making his business so public; outwardly, however, his face was composed and calm. He even let a small smirk cross his own lips, making Flint frown.

On the second floor the lift opened and they stepped into the hallway. On the right were several doors; the first one bore the words

**Dept. of Magical Law Enforcement**

**Department Head**

There was a space for a name which apparently been erased. Harry imagined that it had once held the name "Amelia Bones" there, before she had been killed.

Opening the door, Flint stepped back and mockingly gestured them inside. Harry stepped in, wondering anxiously who he would see, but the office was empty. The office was spacious, almost huge, with shelves along the two walls on either side of the desk filled with books. There were three seats placed in front of the large wooden desk. At the front of the desk was a name holder which was empty.

"Have a seat," Flint said with another evil smile. "I'm sure someone'll get to you sooner or later. Good luck, Potter." And with a laugh he closed the door.

The three of them stood there for a moment. "What do we do now?" Ron said, finally, sounding almost frightened.

"Have a seat, I guess," Harry said with a shrug. They walked around and sat down: Harry in the center chair, Hermione on his left and Ron on his right. Hermione began shuffling through the sheaf of papers in her hands.

Ron was looking all around, at the books, the desk and other objects in the room. "I wonder why Scrimgeour never replaced Madam Bones' position?"

"Maybe he couldn't find the right person for the position," Hermione suggested.

Harry closed his eyes and put his hand over them, resting his head on the heel of his hand and the arm of the chair. At least they were here now, they hadn't been late – and nobody had died yet, he added jokingly. Now it was just a matter of –

"Good afternoon, Mr. Potter." At the sound of the girlish, high-pitched voice every one of Harry's muscles clenched. Beside him, Hermione gave a small half-stifled shriek and Ron uttered a curse under his breath that Harry hoped only he had heard.

"YOU!" he heard Hermione say, but even before looking he knew who it was. There was only one person that voice could belong to. Turning around, Harry saw Dolores Umbridge standing in the doorway, a thick folder full of parchment documents in her hands, her toadlike face split in a wide smile. She closed the door behind her and waddled behind the desk, turning to face the three of them. Still smiling, she leaned forward and looked Harry in the eye.

"It looks like you've been practicing magic out of school again, Mr. Potter," she trilled, giving him a look of mock disappointment.

"He was found innocent of that charge –" Hermione began, but Umbridge put up a quieting hand.

"Tut, tut, my dear," she said reprovingly. "You'll have your chance to speak in a moment. Now where was I? Ah — " she dropped the folder on the desk in front of her, opened it, and then looked back at Harry. "Well," she said with a cheerful, contemptuous smile. "Let us begin this properly, shall we?" A glance at Hermione told Harry she was bursting to speak, but she held her tongue; Umbridge, taking this for compliance, cleared her throat with a little cough, "_Hem_, _hem_," and looked down at the parchment spread before her.

"This disciplinary hearing, this fourteenth day of July," she began, her high, girlish voice making the words into a children's song, "into offenses committed under the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery and the International Statute of Secrecy, by Harry James Potter, resident at number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surry.

"The Interrogator is Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic. Witnesses for the defense are: Hermione Jean Granger, of London; and Ronald Bilius Weasley, of Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon."

"The accused is charged with the following," Umbridge continued in her small-girl voice, the malevolent gleam in her round, bulging eyes belying the innocent tone of voice with which they were uttered. "That on June 25th of this year, you, Harry James Potter, at your place of residence, did knowingly and willfully perform magic before attaining your 17th year of age in the probable presence of Muggles.

"It is further alleged that later that same day, you did knowingly and willfully enjoin, engage, or persuade two wizards, namely one Hermione Granger and one Ronald Weasley, both of whom have already come of age, to perform magic in front of, or upon, Muggles in their presence."

"We were never informed of that charge!" Hermione said angrily.

"It was added only this morning, in the light of new evidence," Umbridge fluttered. "An owl has been dispatched to each of your homes."

"Fat lot of good that does us," Ron muttered, then jerked back as Umbridge's hand moved suddenly, pointing, not a wand, but a teacher's pointer, at him.

"_Do you have something to say about how this hearing is being conducted, Mr. Weasley?_" Umbridge barked at him, her voice cracking like a whip. Ron, nearly panicked, shook his head wildly before realizing that she was not pointing a wand at him. She smirked, dropping the pointer. Ron slumped and looked away from Harry and Hermione, embarrassed by his reaction.

Harry's hand had gone instinctively toward his wand, but Hermione reached over as if to stop him. Only that, and the fact that he'd hesitated lest he pulled out the wrong wand, had kept him from drawing on Umbridge. She looked at him indulgently, then reached over and tapped his wand arm, not gently, with her pointer.

"Please remove your hand from your wand, Mr. Potter." Her face was calm but Harry could see in her cold eyes the fury they hid; she had tried to bait him into pulling his wand on her! Harry let go of his wand and removed his hand from his pocket, his fingers spread to show he had nothing hidden.

"Now let's get on with this," Umbridge said coldly.

"May I speak?" Hermione cut in quickly.

Umbridge looked at her patronizingly. "Do you wish to offer testimony in the matter, dear?" She made the final word a curse.

"I wish to address the court and request a dismissal of the charges against Harry," Hermione responded just as coldly. "There is insuf —"

"Excuse me, my dear," Umbridge interrupted her. "Are you here as a witness for the accused?"

"Well, yes, but –"

"Then this court disqualifies you from speaking for the accused," Umbridge declared. "I'm sorry, dear." Her toadlike smile, however, made it very clear she was anything but sorry.

"That is _not_ in the Ministry manual on courtroom procedures!" Hermione objected, standing and taking a very confrontational pose.

"It's a recent addition, dear."

"Dumbledore spoke for me at my first hearing," Harry added.

"As I say, it's a _very_ recent addition," Umbridge smiled. "It was put in to avoid certain conflicts of interest."

"To make it harder for the defense, you mean," Hermione fired back.

"_That_ is a matter of opinion," Umbridge shrugged. "_Your_ opinion, Miss Granger, and since you are not a trained profession advocate or Ministry lawmaker, it is scarcely worth worrying over." Hermione's eyes flashed fiercely, but she sat down with her arms folded across her chest, waiting for Umbridge's next move.

Umbridge, apparently satisfied with muzzling Hermione, turned next to Harry. "Mr. Potter, do you have any evidence to offer at this hearing before a decision is rendered?"

Hermione gasped, clearly outraged, and Harry said loudly, "You haven't even proven that I've done anything!"

Umbridge jabbed a finger at him, reminding Harry very much of Uncle Vernon in the delight he always took in catching Harry out. "That's where you've very, very _wrong_, Mr. Potter! The facts here are incontrovertible." She read again off the parchment sheets before her.

"First, you are a resident of number four, Privet Drive, in Little Whinging, Surrey. Second, you are the _only_ resident there who is a wizard. Third, magic was performed at your residence at 11:12 a.m. on the morning of June 25th. Therefore, as the only resident at that time capable of performing magic, you are the most likely person to have done so."

Harry stared at her, amazed. "First off," he said tightly. "I was not the only person there capable of magic. There were two others, and they are both here right now to give testimony in the matter."

"I'm sorry," Umbridge said sweetly. "But they're disqualified."

"WHAT?!" Harry bellowed, and all three of them came to their feet. "_How can you disqualify them?!_"

"Conflict of interest," Umbridge said briskly. "You will be a witness at their hearings next month. This creates a conflict since it therefore benefits them if you are cleared of these charges. To remove this conflict, you cannot benefit from their testimony, however innocent their intentions may _appear_ to be."

Ron finally found his voice. "You're _joking_!" he said loudly.

Umbridge looked at him balefully. "I assure you, Mr. Weasley, I am not."

Harry didn't know what to do next. He looked at Hermione helplessly. She stared at him for a long moment, then glanced loathingly at Umbridge before turning back and saying a single word: "Quorum."

"That's right!" Harry said, remembering what Hermione had said while strategizing about this hearing. "You need at least a minimum of three members of the Wizengamot to attend a hearing for there to be a majority." How in the world Harry happened to remember this based on Hermione's one word was beyond him.

"There weren't enough members available," Umbridge said quickly. She had dropped her artificial smile and was now openly hostile.

"Liar!" Hermione crowed triumphantly. "We know for a _fact_ that the Wizengamot met this morning!"

"And how would you know that, you silly girl?" Umbridge snarled at her.

"We saw two members just before lunch in Diagon Alley," Hermione replied. She leaned over Umbridge's desk, their faces barely a foot apart. "They told us they were at a court meeting _this morning_. So either _they_ are lying, or _you_ are." She stood back up and folded her arms across her chest, looking smug.

Umbridge stared at them in cold fury, her bulging eyes narrowed and her wide mouth twisted. "Very well," she said slowly, her voice barely controlled. "I will have to rely on a different approach, it seems." Suddenly her hand whipped up from behind the desk, this time holding a wand. Harry, whose hand had been edging toward his pocket, grabbed for his own wand but Umbridge had him beat. "_Expelliarmus_!" she shrieked, and Harry's wand flew from his hand into a far corner.

Hermione's hand was in her robe but Umbridge had leaped to her feet, surprisingly fast for such a stout woman; her wand was pointed squarely at Hermione's face. "Carefully," she said with an air of triumph. "Bring it out slowly, very slowly. Now throw it over in the corner. Weasley, you too," she gestured at Ron, who took out his own wand gingerly and tossed it over with Harry and Hermione's.

"Very clever, Granger," Umbridge said, almost grudgingly. "You obviously did your homework. I thought for a moment I would have an easy time of it until you stopped Potter from drawing his wand on me. Now, though, it's almost as simple: You three, enraged because Potter was found guilty of the charges against him, drew your wands on me. I was forced to defend myself and you all broke down, realizing your error and threw yourself on the mercy of the court."

"You're barking," Ron snarled.

"You can't make that stick," Hermione put in. "You'd have to –" A horrifying thought occurred to her. "You _wouldn't_," she breathed. "You twisted, _evil_ woman—!"

"Careful, little Miss Know-it-All," Umbridge hissed. "Or my _Obliviate_ spell may make you forget more than just the last 30 minutes. You may end up in St. Mungo's as a permanent guest there."

"You evil old bat!" Ron spat. "You wouldn't dare!" Harry turned toward Ron and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Would you like to try me, _boy_?" Umbridge sneered, waving her wand at Ron, who glared back at her while Harry kept his hand on his shoulder, seemingly to hold him back.

But Harry had turned toward Ron for a reason; his hand was in his robe's wand pocket, he took hold of the wand there and thought _Adicio_ to himself, hoping mightily for, then feeling it vibrate. They had a chance! Umbridge didn't' know his wand was in his hand. A Stunner Spell –

But at that moment the door burst open and Rufus Scrimgeour, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Mr. Weasley appeared, followed closely behind by Mrs. Weasley. "Umbridge!" Scrimgeour roared, outraged. "What in Merlin's name are you _doing_?!"

Umbridge froze, her wand pointing somewhere between Harry and Hermione. "Minister!" she breathed. "You're back! I –" she looked about wildly, trying to decide what to do. "These three students – they barged into my – I mean to say, _your_ – office and…"

"Quiet!" Scrimgeour ordered. "Drop your wand!" Umbridge fell silent but did not release her wand. "Step out of the way," he ordered the three teens.

"NO!" Umbridge shrieked. "They were about to attack me!" she gibbered, gesturing wildly with her wand.

"With what?" Scrimgeour said grimly. "You're the only one with a wand in your hand." Harry had taken his hand from his pocket, leaving his own wand inside.

"Ms. Umbridge," Shacklebolt said in his slow, deep voice, his wand also pointed at her over the heads of Harry, Ron and Hermione. "We've been listening in the hallway for the past five minutes. Elders Tabitha Skuld and Verdani Norncombe of the Wizengamot alerted us some time ago that you might be conducting a hearing this afternoon, based on statements made by these Hogwarts students this morning in Diagon Alley."

"A hearing I _specifically_ told you to cancel," Scrimgeour added. "We collected enough evidence after Greyback's death to know there's more than enough to conclude that overage wizards had performed the magic detected at Potter's residence on the day in question."

Umbridge stared at them, her eyes darting back and forth like a trapped animal. "No," she said slowly. "No – that's not true, Minister! Your men were deceived – they had to be! These three are the ringleaders of a subversive group that intends to destroy the Ministry!" Harry, Ron and Hermione looked at each other in confusion. "Oh, don't play stupid!" she spat at them. "You're still working for your precious headmaster, Dumbledore!"

Scrimgeour sighed heavily. "Dumbledore is _dead_, Dolores."

"And you believe that, do you?" Umbridge said shrilly. "If only we could be sure!" She gestured with her wand at Harry, and four wands poised to strike at the least indication of a spell, but she merely gibbered on. "You _know_ this one hiding something from you! Don't you, Rufus? Or are you so blind to what's been going on these last months, all over the country?"

"I am all too aware of what's been going on, Dolores," Scrimgeour said slowly. Dumbledore's death last month was just the capper to a steady advance of You-Know-Who's power base."

"And these three know what's going on!" Umbridge screeched, stamping her foot as if she were about to throw a tantrum. "They've been planning something for months!"

"There is no evidence of that!" Scrimgeour said forcefully, then tried to rein himself back and mollify Umbridge. "Dolores, if you have something to show us, put down your wand and let's see it. You know I am willing to listen."

Umbridge looked at her situation: four wands to her one, outnumbered seven to one, including the teens before her, and everyone blocking her only exit: she immediately lowered her wand. Shacklebolt gestured to someone outside the door and two Aurors pushed their way around the Weasleys, moved Harry, Ron and Hermione out of the way, and hustled Umbridge out the door. Only when she was gone did Scrimgeour, Shacklebolt and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley relax.

"I must apologize," Scrimgeour said to the three of them, sounding uncharacteristically contrite. "I had ordered her to handle the dismissal of the charges against you, Mr. Potter; once we learned that Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley were there, it was obvious the case had no merit. Apparently Ms. Umbridge was following her own agenda."

He turned to Shacklebolt. "Have their statements taken while I write out the dismissal of the charges against them."

"Dismissal?" Hermione said, surprised. "All three of us?"

"Yes," Scrimgeour said, looking at her evenly. "We followed up after you left Little Whinging on the Knight Bus; the situation was contained, and the spells you used minimized Muggle knowledge of wizarding folk. Most of the knowledge they had was from Harry's Muggle cousin, and we wiped the knowledge he spread and … impressed … upon him the need to maintain secrecy of the wizarding world." Scrimgeour smiled humorlessly. "I believe he will say nothing more to his friends about wizards. Ever. Now excuse me while I attend to Ms. Umbridge." And Scrimgeour swept from the room, leaving Harry, Ron and Hermione with the Weasleys and Shacklebolt, who all stared at each other.


	8. Coming of Age

Chapter 8

**COMING OF AGE**

"That was probably the most harrowing hour of my life," Mrs. Weasley said later that day at the kitchen table back at the Burrow, after things had been sorted out at the Ministry.

"It wasn't much fun for us either, Mum," Ron said feelingly.

"So what's going to happen to ol' Dolores?" Fred asked his father. He and George had joined them for supper that evening to hear more of the details about the hearing.

"Probably not as much as should," Mr. Weasley said unhappily, passing his bowl to his wife for another helping of stew.

"She _should_ be sacked," Mrs. Weasley said angrily.

"She should be _hung_," Ginny put in hotly. "What's with the Minister, anyway? If you'd done even _half_ of what she got away with, Dad, you'd be thrown in Azkaban and the key melted!"

"It must be her connection with the Wizengamot," Hermione decided. She had hardly touched her own bowl so far. "Harry said when he was in court for his first meeting that some of them were siding with her even when the evidence clearly pointed elsewhere."

"That may be," Mr. Weasley said. "But some of them were also siding with Fudge at the time. As it is, Scrimgeour's demoted her to Junior Undersecretary to the Minister and suspended her for a month."

"Not much of a change," George sniffed, passing his now-empty bowl to his mother just as she picked up her own spoon again.

"But it _is_ a change, at least," his mother said, scooping a ladleful of stew and plopping it into his bowl. "If you ask me it's all rubbish anyway! They need to clear that place out and start over again – here you are, George."

"Mr. Weasley," Harry asked, "Do you have any idea why Scrimgeour would suddenly act like –" Harry groped for the right word "– well, like he cared what happened to me, or Ron or Hermione?"

Mr. Weasley stared down into his bowl of stew for several moments, stirring it absently, seemingly lost in thought. When he finally looked up, his expression was quite serious. "I think Dumbledore's death scared him, Harry. Most of us have grown up knowing Dumbledore for all of our lives, even Scrimgeour. I think many of us expected him to live, if not forever, at least until this business with You-Know-Who was finished. I know _I_ did," he admitted with a sad smile. "It's jarring to think we'll never see him again. I think Rufus has realized that as well."

"But he'd been trying to get me to go along with the Ministry's lies about Voldemort," Harry protested, ignoring the several winces around the table.

"Yes, I remember his visit here last Christmas, with Percy," Mr. Weasley said softly. "But he'd been Minister for only a few months at that point, Harry. Before that, he'd been an Auror, or in charge of Aurors, for most of his adult life. He was used to obeying orders that were given to him and to having his orders obeyed. The fact that Dumbledore normally acted autonomously put them at loggerheads quite a few times in the last year. And when you sided with Dumbledore, well…" Mr. Weasley gave a shrug. "Scrimgeour saw it as a rebellion against him rather than loyalty to your headmaster."

"I hadn't thought of it that way," Harry said, sitting back in his chair and looking thoughtful.

"Is the Order thinking of making some sort of arrangement with him?" Fred asked shrewdly. Everyone's interest perked up with this question. Ron and Ginny leaned forward as did Harry, steepling his fingertips together in front of himself.

"Well," Mr. Weasley began, "That's not really –"

"Oh Fred, don't ask such rubbish," Mrs. Weasley cut her husband off, wagging an annoyed finger at her son. "And stop trying to poke your nose into Order business!"

Fred sat back, seemingly chastised, but Harry saw a quick glance between the twins that suggested they'd found out more than their mother had intended them to.

"She always does that," Fred chuckled later, in Ron's room, where he and George had joined Harry and Ron after supper. "Can't help herself, bless her. She's always afraid Dad'll spill the beans about Order business."

"Anyway," George added airily, "Who'd want to work for the Order when they can work for the 'Chosen One' himself?"

"Right," said Harry, chuckling in spite of being embarrassed. "I've been chosen to let the world's most dangerous Dark wizard or his Death Eaters have a go at me every year or so."

That Saturday Harry, Ron and Hermione cajoled Mrs. Weasley into letting them go to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Ginny asked to go along as well, and no one objected (although Ron mumbled about her being a "tag-along" lately) , so shortly before eleven that morning the fireplace in Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes burst into green flame, depositing Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Harry in the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes' fireplace.

Instead of Fred or George being there to greet them, however, Verity, their assistant, was waiting for them in front of the fireplace as they arrived. "Mr. Weasley and Mr. Weasley are out front with customers at the moment," she said. "They asked me to make you comfortable in the office and get you something to drink if you like." Harry noticed her staring at his scar – he wondered if Fred and George had ever mentioned to her who he was.

Ron and Hermione asked for tea while Harry and Ginny declined anything. The office only had three extra chairs but when Verity said she'd find an extra one, Hermione said "Don't bother, I can whip one up," and waved her wand, producing an ornate sitting room chair complete with cushion, a definite improvement over the folding chairs the others were using. Ron went around and sat in one of the twins' leather desk chairs, leaning back and putting his feet on the desk.

"Getting a bit ahead of yourself, aren't you?" Ginny said with a grin. "You don't even have a job here yet."

"It's a bit of a problem, really," Ron said airily. "I can't decide whether to start as President of the corporation or Director in Charge of Research and Development."

"Given your skill with a broom, little bro, we might let you sweep up someday," Fred said, walking into the office at that moment. "Out," he said, coming around the desk, and Ron hastily vacated the chair, mumbling about Fred's lack of humor.

"So how's business?" Harry said conversationally.

"Booming, actually," George said brightly as he joined them. "We've had stuff leaping off the shelves faster than we can make it, sometimes, even considering we've had to shut down some products because they were being used by Dark wizards."

"Like the Shield Hats and Cloaks?" Ginny asked.

"Yeah," Fred nodded. "The Ministry doesn't want us selling those to anyone but them."

"But they wouldn't commit to buying any that we made past their initial order," George added. "So we had to shut down production."

"But we're coming up with new ideas so things are still going swimmingly," Fred finished.

"So what are we having for lunch?" Ron wanted to know.

"Whatever you're buying," George shot back. Ron made a rude gesture at him. Hermione frowned and pushed his hand down.

"We do have something new, just cooked it up last week," Fred grinned, looking at George, who nodded.

"Yes," Fred's twin said. "Efficient use of our inventory, that was."

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"Pygmy Puff Pastries," Fred said, turning his head so only Harry could see him wink. "They positively melt in your mouth."

"WHAT?!" Ginny cried, outraged. "PASTRIES!! HAVE YOU GONE MENTAL, FRED?!"

"Well, we have to make use with what we have, Ginny," George said mildly, seemingly oblivious to her shouting. He produced a box from a nearby shelf and held it out to her. Inside were a few small white powdery balls.

"Ick!" Ginny said disgustedly. "Get them away from me!"

"They're just powdered doughballs," Fred said, taking one and popping it into his mouth. "You didn't think we'd actually kill any of our precious Pygmy Puffs to make pastries, did you?"

Ginny, still annoyed at being tricked, said nastily, "You would if you could make a Galleon at it, wouldn't you?"

Fred and George looked at each other, then as one they clapped their hands over their hearts. "Aaah, she cut right to the quick with that one, didn't she?" Fred said, staggering back.

"Positively vicious, she is," George lamented, hanging onto Fred as if he might keel over otherwise. Harry and Ron were laughing, but Ginny just glared at them.

In mid-stagger both twins suddenly straightened up. "Right, who's ready for lunch, then?" Fred said briskly.

They settled on fish and chips, a rarity at the Burrow, and butterbeers for drinks. Harry, Ron and Hermione walked over to a nearby shop and picked up enough to feed them twice over – Hermione thought it would be a nice treat for Mrs. Weasley if she didn't have to cook for the evening. "You don't know her that well then," Ron told her. "Mum _loves_ to cook."

"But not _every_ day," Hermione insisted, so they picked up extra for later. Back at the shop, they piled the food and drinks on a counter near the back of the store and let Fred, George and Verity know that lunch was ready.

"Cheers," Verity said with a smile as she drank deeply of the butterbeer, but only picked at her fish and chips. "I'm watching my figure," she said apologetically to Harry.

"So am I," Fred said, taking a swig of his own butterbeer. Ron looked the other way, but Hermione said reprovingly, "Fred! That's so sexist!"

"It's alright," Verity smiled. "I know Fred's in love with me. Or is it George?" she added with a twinkle in her eyes.

"Oh, we think you're the best," George beamed at her. "Finest employee we've ever had."

Verity laughed. "I'm the _only_ employee you've ever had!"

George smiled. "Well, we're both right then, aren't we?"

The bell on the door tinkled and Verity jumped up to help the customer. She returned a few moments later.

"Fred – sorry – _Mr. Weasley_," she said with a teasing smile on her face. "There's a Mr. Longbottom to see you."

"Longbottom?" Ron said, trying to look out the door. "Is that Neville? _Here_?"

"Something wrong with that?" George looked coolly at his younger brother. "If we'll sell to you, we'll sell to anybody, you know."

"Get stuffed," Ron muttered. He turned to Harry. "I never thought of Neville coming in here, did you?"

"Maybe he's tired of having jokes played on him all the time," Harry said, wondering. "He might want to turn that 'round a bit."

Harry got up and walked out of the office, curious. He didn't walk straight over, but approached in a roundabout way. Fred was walking over to where a new line of security measures for wizards' houses was being displayed. Creeping around carefully behind them, Harry saw that Neville wasn't alone – Luna Lovegood was with him. And they were holding hands. _That_ was interesting!

Harry walked up behind them and said, "Hello, Neville, Luna."

Neville jumped but was beaming as he turned around. "Harry! Hi, how are you? What are you doing here?"

"We're just having lunch with Fred and George," Harry said. He looked at Luna, who had turned to smile dreamily at him.

"Hello, Harry," she said softly. "How have you been this summer – apart from losing Professor Dumbledore, that is?"

"Er – fine, thanks," Harry said. Luna's penchant for making uncomfortable statements could be disconcerting at times. "What brings you and Neville to Diagon Alley?"

"Gran wanted me to look into some security for the house," Neville said, indicating the Weasleys' array of devices. "I read that Fred and George had a new line of security stuff and we thought we'd come down and look it over."

"I've been staying at Neville's house for the past week," Luna said abruptly. "His grandmother is ever so nice, although she's a little too domineering of Neville for my taste."

"Well, I hope you're having a nice time there," Harry said, covering his surprise; he spared a momentary glance at Fred, who had a most wicked smile on his face since neither Neville or Luna were looking at him. "I met his grandmother a few years ago and she was very nice," Harry told Luna.

Neville looked embarrassed, but he still hadn't let go of Luna's hand, nor she of his. Harry stepped back from them, preparing to leave them alone. "I just wanted to say hello to you both," he said to them. "See you."

"We'll see you at Hogwarts!" Neville called as Harry walked away. Back in the twins' office, Harry shared the news of Luna being at Neville's house and them being a couple with Ron, Hermione, Ginny and George.

"I wondered about those two," Ginny said, bemused. "They did seem to be a bit chummy at the funeral."

"Well, they were made for each other," Ron observed.

"And what is _that_ supposed to mean?" Hermione said, looking at him.

"Just that they're both sort of – you know, weird."

"People probably would think that us being together would be weird too, don't you think?"

"That's not the point, Hermione! _We're_ not weird!"

"You're half-right," George said, just loud enough to be heard.

"Nose _out_, you."

Fred came back into the office. "That was a sweet sale, Neville bought one of everything. Bright lad, that one."

"I never heard about that security line," Harry said. "When did you start it?"

"We just brought them out a couple of weeks ago," George said. "Been working on them for a few months now, very hush-hush."

"You wouldn't _believe_ how lax some of the security is in shops around here," Fred said, a perfectly innocent expression on his face.

"I don't think I want to know," Harry said, giving him a sidelong glance. Fred and George glanced at each other and chuckled softly.

Mrs. Weasley expected them back by two. About 1:45 Hermione and Ginny began packing up the rest of the food to head back to the Burrow. They lined up in front of the fireplace, each throwing in a handful of Floo Powder and shouting "The Burrow!" so the emerald flames would whisk them back there.

Harry had expected the next dozen days until his seventeenth birthday to drag excruciatingly slow. However, with Ron and Hermione's hearings canceled and plenty of activites around the Burrow, like two-player Quidditch with Ron, Ginny and Hermione, nosing through Fred and George's boxes and the odd chore or two around the house and garden, waking up one morning to discover all his favorite breakfast foods waiting for him, prepared by a beaming Mrs. Weasley came almost as a shock to him.

"Happy birthday, Harry!" Mrs. Weasley hugged him as he stood, almost embarrassed, in front of the table where plates of eggs, sausages, toast and porridge was waiting for him. Opposite the plates were a pile of wrapped birthday presents.

"I – I don't know what to say," Harry stammered.

"You don't need to say anything," Ron said, punching him lightly in the arm. "Except – let's eat!"

After breakfast, Harry went through the pile of presents, finding gifts from all of the Weasleys (except for Percy, of course). Notably, Harry pondered, gifts from Ron and Hermione were missing from the pile. The final one he opened was a small, square package from Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. It was a gold watch, very much like the one Ron had gotten for his seventeenth birthday. Harry stared at it; then, feeling something on the back, turned it over to see a small dent in the casing.

"It was my brother Fabian's," Mrs. Weasley said softly. "I'm sorry it's not a new one but –" She stopped because Harry had stood and hugged her tightly.

"It's the best present I've ever gotten," Harry told her as he let her go. She smiled shyly, her eyes bright, then turned and began bustling about the kitchen.

That afternoon, Hermione and Ron led Harry into the Burrow's sitting room where they each gave him a birthday present. Harry had awakened that morning, knowing he was now seventeen and of age, but it seemed very much like nothing had changed at all except the day. He didn't _feel_ more like a man now. He wondered, perhaps, if somehow they could be wrong about his age and he was only sixteen instead of seventeen. But that was silly.

"Happy birthday, mate," Ron said, bringing out a wrapped present from behind him and handing it to Harry. It was flat and fairly large. Harry took it and tore the wrapping off. It was a framed front page of the _Daily Prophet_ from July 31, 1980, with the headline **"HARRY JAMES POTTER BORN!!"** where the original headline would have been. Below that was a picture of a smiling, waving Harry. Harry looked at the various stories on the front page. It struck him how the news of that day paralleled recent editions of the _Prophet_, with speculations on the whereabouts of You-Know-Who, the Minister of Magic advising calm and to report any suspicious behavior to the Ministry straightaway.

"Thanks, Ron," Harry smiled. "But I don't remember anyone taking that picture of me."

"Thank Fred and George for that," Ron said lightly. "They got it for me."

"Here's my present," Hermione said, handing him a package that was the shape and weight of a medium-sized book.

"I wonder what this could be," Harry said with a smile. He tore open the wrapping and looked at his present, which was indeed a book: _Beyond NEWTS: A Compendium of Advanced Spells_, by Rheingold Ubermann, and as Harry flipped through it he saw advanced Charms, Transfiguration and Defense magic, spells well beyond anything in their normal magic books, the Standard Book of Spells series.

"Wow, Hermione, thank you!" Harry looked at her, very humbled by her faith in him. It would be a wonder if he ever learned a tenth of these spells. "You know I may need your help with some of these."

"Oh, do you think?" Hermione arched an eyebrow at him, and all three of them laughed.

Another couple of surprises awaited Harry; the first came before dinner as Fred and George showed up with a present as well, although Fred suggested he open it when Mrs. Weasley wasn't around. Harry put it in his trunk for safe-keeping until he could get to it.

The second surprise came after dinner when Mrs. Weasley brought a birthday cake to the table with _Happy Birthday, Harry!_ written in colored icing on top and seventeen candles in a lightning bolt pattern across its top. Harry laughed delightedly as he saw it; Mrs. Weasley stared at the candles, then at Fred and George, and sighed heavily, but she didn't say anything.

Mr. Weasley, relaxed and enjoying an after-dinner butterbeer, said "Happy seventeenth birthday, Harry! Will you do the honors, my dear?"

Mrs. Weasley pulled out her wand and with a flick all seventeen candles lit at once. "All together now," she said, and they went into a hearty rendition of "Happy Birthday," both embarrassing and cheering Harry.

After they finished Mrs. Weasley said, "Make a wish and blow them out, Harry."

Harry stared at the candles for a moment, thinking, _I wish my entire life could have been like this_, and blew out the candles. Everyone applauded and with another flick of her wand Mrs. Weasley removed all the candles and a cake knife floated out of a drawer and began cutting pieces of cake by itself.

"Fred, get the ice cream, will you?" Mrs. Weasley asked the twin nearest the counter, and added sharply, "_Not_ that way, you've got two feet!" as Fred began to draw his wand.

"I _have_ been practicing, Mum," Fred said, sounding mildly annoyed but he leaned over in his chair and grabbed the carton of ice cream off the counter, depositing it on the table by the cake.

Soon everyone was enjoying birthday cake and ice cream. It was quite delicious, Harry thought, as were all Mrs. Weasley's dishes. Ginny asked, "Is the cake good, Harry?"

"Yes it is," Harry said, nodding as he swallowed the mouthful of ice cream he'd just taken. "Thank you, Mrs. Weasley."

"Thank Ginny," Mrs. Weasley beamed. "She made it this morning." Ginny smiled proudly.

"It's very good, Ginny," Harry said, giving her a smile, which she returned.

After the cake and ice cream was finished Mr. Weasley announced, "Harry, we have something for you as well, since you've come of age." He produced an envelope from his robe and handed it to Harry with a small flourish. "From Mrs. Weasley and myself, as a token of our appreciation for your friendship and for all of the help you've given this family."

Harry looked at the envelope, which had his name, "Mr. Harry Potter," spelled out in ornate script on the front. Opening it, he found a certificate which read:

The Ministry of Magic

Apparition Test Center

Hereby Certifies that:

Harry James Potter

Shall be admitted, upon presentation of this certificate, to test for application for a license to Apparate with all benefits, duties, and conditions pertaining thereto.

Present this Certificate to the Examiner when called for redemption.

No. **80731**Wilkie Twycross

Dept. of Magical Transportation

"Wow," Harry said breathlessly, stunned. He'd completely forgotten about being able to Apparate once he turned seventeen. "Thank you! Thank you very much," he said earnestly, looking at Mr. and Mrs. Weasley in gratitude.

Mr. Weasley smiled benevolently at him. "There happens to be a test coming the second Saturday of next month, if you're interested in taking it then."

Harry nodded vigorously; there were a few chuckles around the table at his enthusiasm. He looked around the table. Everyone was enjoying his reaction – except Ginny, who'd run into the living room, apparently having heard something.

"You should be able to pass that test in one go," Ron said. "What with all the Apparating you've done, even before you took the course last spring."

"We can take it together," Harry said suddenly, remembering that Ron had _just_ failed the test when he took it earlier in the spring.

Ron shrugged and looked away. "We'll see," he mumbled. "Maybe I can scrape together the gold in a few weeks."

Harry started to say, "I can loan you the application fee," then remembered Ron was likely to be touchy about taking money from him, in front of his parents or not.

Ginny ran back into the room. "Dad, there's someone in the fire for you," she said. "I think it's Professor McGonagall."

Harry and Hermione looked at each other and chuckled.

"What?" Ginny asked, wondering what she'd said that was funny.

"Nothing," Harry and Hermione both said at the same time.

"McGonagall?" Mr. Weasley said, puzzled. "Wonder what she wants with me at this hour?" He went into the living room.

"Where would you like to Apparate to, Harry," Fred asked. "If you could go anywhere you wanted?"

"Huh, I dunno," Harry shrugged. "Haven't thought about it."

"Maybe we should put an Anti-Apparition jinx in Ginny's room," George said with a wink.

"Ha-ha, aren't you hilarious?" Ginny snorted. "You'd think I turned all your Pygmy Puffs into Blast-Ended Skrewts or something."

"No more talk like that," Mrs. Weasley warned. "No one makes fun of your love life, George."

"He does," George said, jerking a thumb at Fred. "But then, I know he's just jealous."

"Ha," Fred said coolly. "You make Percy look like Myron Wagtail by comparison."

"Who?" Harry said, confused.

"Lead singer for The Weird Sisters," Hermione said. "Very handsome, very popular with witches all over England and even in Europe." She smiled absently. "He is very good…"

"You fancy him, then?" Harry grinned.

Hermione's reverie evaporated immediately. "Don't be silly, Harry! He's just a popular singer." But her face had gone bright red.

"She fancies him," Ginny said with a grin. Hermione looked at her, aghast, as if Ginny had just divulged one of her darkest secrets.

There was a cacophony of voices as Hermione and Ginny begin threatening to tell each other's secrets, and Ron began egging them both on; meanwhile Fred and George were discussing their (apparently wildly speculative) love lives; Mrs. Weasley, wearied by the uproar but deciding not to interfere, began gathering up empty plates and silverware and preparing to wash them.

Mr. Weasley appeared at the doorway of the kitchen. He looked pale; his expression was one of both heavy grief and utter amazement. "Listen, everyone. Listen! LISTEN!"

Finally the room quieted down and Mr. Weasley threw himself back into his chair, staring at the scrubbed tabletop for several moments before beginning to speak.

"That was Professor McGonagall," he said slowly, looking around the room. "She had just gotten word that there'd been trouble up in Lancashire."

"That's where Neville lives," Hermione said. Mr. Weasley nodded at her, and at the expression in his eyes she went pale, gripping Ron's arm beside her in apprehension.

"Yes," Mr. Weasley continued, now almost straining to talk. "There was an attack on his grandmother's house earlier tonight."

"Oh no!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed. "Arthur, not –"

"Yes, it was," Mr. Weasley said. "Death Eaters," he finished, confirming their worst fears.

Harry was horrified. Why would Death Eaters attack the Longbottoms? Were they trying to finish the work that Bellatrix Lestrange had begun all those years ago, when she tortured Frank and Alice Longbottom, Neville's parents, into insanity? The others around the table were equally appalled: Hermione was near tears, and Ginny was staring at the floor, shaking her head. Fred and George were exchanging hard looks with each other and Ron.

"Is – is anyone – dead?" Ron finally asked into the silence.

"There were several casualties," Mr. Weasley said as Mrs. Weasley came over to stand beside him, her arm across his shoulders. He put an arm around her waist.

"Both Neville and Luna Lovegood, who was staying at the Longbottom house, were taken to St. Mungo's for injuries sustained during the fight. As near as the Aurors could tell, at least three Death Eaters were involved in the attack.

"Augusta Longbottom was killed by the _Avada Kedavra_, the Killing Curse. It was apparently performed by – by You-Know-Who himself."

"Voldemort!" Harry shouted. There were several winces, though by now it was almost expected for Harry to use the Dark Lord's name. "Why would he want her dead? Why would he even care –" he stopped, wondering if there was a connection between Augusta Longbottom and Voldemort's Horcruxes.

"No idea, Harry," Mr. Weasley said, ignoring Harry's clipped remark. "But it gets even stranger. There was a final casualty."

"A Death Eater snuffed it?" Ron said eagerly.

"Actually –" Mr. Weasely stared around the table at each of them before he said, quite clearly, "Lord Voldemort is dead."

No one spoke. No one breathed. They all looked at each other in disbelief. Finally, Harry spoke, almost convulsively. "Who – who did it."

Mr. Weasley's eyes bored into Harry's as he said, "Neville Longbottom."


	9. The Boy Who Survived

Chapter 9

**The Boy Who Survived**

"Neville? _NEVILLE_?" Harry gasped. How could that possibly be, he wanted to scream. It was _he_, not Neville, whom Voldemort had been trying to kill these last few years. _He_, not Neville, that had lived with Muggles for a decade before he even knew he was a wizard. It was _his_ parents, not Neville's, that were murdered because of Voldemort. Although Neville's parents, he remembered guiltily, were now insane and didn't even recognize him anymore.

Mr. Weasley ran a hand through his thinning hair. "I know it sounds fantastic, Harry –"

"Fantastic?" George blurted. "Dad, it's _unbelievable_! Neville is hopeless –"

"George, that's unkind." Mrs. Weasley said sharply. "We don't know what Neville Longbottom is capable of."

"Mum, come on, we _know_ Neville," Fred said. "He's good in Herbology, and he's got a knack with Charms, but he's a duffer in everything else."

"But he did well at Defense Against the Dark Arts when Harry was teaching it!" Ginny said on his behalf. "And he was really good when we fought the Death Eaters at the Ministry of Magic."

"But could he take on You-Know-Who himself?" Mr. Weasley asked, looking intently at Harry. Harry shook his head slowly.

Mr. Weasley sat still for several moments, then stood. "I'd better get to the Ministry and find out what's been happening," he said. He leaned over and gave a worried-looking Mrs. Weasley a kiss on the cheek. "They may need some help there. Don't worry, Molly, I'll be fine." His voice lowered some as he added, "I'll let you know on the you-know-what when I find out anything."

"It's alright, dear," Mrs. Weasley said, patting him on the arm and looking around. "They know about the coins. I gave Harry one the day of his hearing, in case I needed to send him a message."

"Ah," Mr. Weasley said. "Very good, then. All right, I'm off." And he swept through the kitchen door and out into the evening. Just past the gate, he turned on his heel and was gone.

Neville and what might have happened at his grandmother's house were the topics of discussion for the rest of the evening. Harry was largely silent throughout most of the discussion; he'd begun to feel that, no matter what he said, it was going to come out sounding like sour grapes. Could Neville actually have _killed_ Voldemort? Anything was possible, he had to admit. Harry had faced Voldemort himself three times now: first in the body of Professor Quirrel; second, a young Tom Riddle brought back through his diary, when he'd possessed Ginny Weasley and nearly killed her. And finally, he'd faced Voldemort directly at the end of his fourth year at Hogwarts, after Wormtail had killed Cedric Diggory and used Harry's own blood ("_Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe_") to restore Voldemort to full life and power. And even though he hadn't fought Voldemort directly at the Department of Mysteries, he was involved in the battle between him and Professor Dumbledore as Voldemort tried to force Dumbledore to kill Harry by possessing his body. Harry could not fight back then, he had been powerless against the Dark Lord's possession, wracked by intense pain and ready to give up. Only when he'd thought of being with Sirius, who passed through the veil only minutes before then, did Voldemort flee, leaving an exhausted, grieving Harry to be returned to Hogwarts, a Harry who, devastated at the death of his godfather, had raged at Dumbledore and smashed many of his possessions before Dumbledore told him the truth about himself, Voldemort, and the Prophecy.

That prophecy, made a year before Harry was born, was spoken by Sibyll Trelawney to Albus Dumbledore as he interviewed her for the Divination position at Hogwarts. It foretold a person who could vanquish the Dark Lord, a person who would be born as the seventh month died, and who the Dark Lord would mark as his equal. Those who bore him would have defied him three times, as both Harry's and Neville's parents had done. Both Harry and Neville were born as July ended; Neville was one day older than Harry.

But Harry was the one who had been marked as Voldemort's equal. The lightning scar on his forehead, the only mark left on him after Voldemort's attack had rebounded, destroying his body and Harry's parent's home in Godric's Hollow, as well as Voldemort's use of Harry's blood in his revival, were strong indications that Voldemort could regard him as an equal. Harry remembered an odd moment, when he told Professor Dumbledore that Voldemort had used his blood, when he thought he saw elation or triumph in Dumbledore's eyes; why had he remembered _that_ just now?

Later that night, after they were in bed, Harry heard Ron turning to and fro restlessly. Finally, "Harry?" he said.

"Yeah."

"Do you _really_ think Neville did it, or not?"

Harry was silent for so long Ron finally said his name again. "Ron, I don't know _what_ to think. Neville beat Voldemort? I guess anybody could get lucky enough –"

"Harry, that's _it_!" Ron's voice filled with excitement. "What if he got some Felix Felicis?"

"Um, yeah…" Felix Felicis was luck in a potion. Harry had won a small vial of it at the beginning of the last school year, enough for one person for twelve hours. He'd used some of it to get Horace Slughorn to give him a memory of a conversation between him and Voldemort when the latter was attending Hogwarts and the Dark Lord had asked him about Horcruxes. The rest of it had been used by Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville and Luna when Draco Malfoy had let Death Eaters loose in Hogwarts Castle. "But where would Neville get Felix Felicis, Ron?"

"Maybe he made it?"

"It takes six months to make it. And Neville's not good at Potions."

"Oh, yeah…" Ron fell silent. Harry, who was tired from thinking about it so much that evening, had almost fallen asleep when Ron piped up and said, "What if he bought some?"

"Ron, go to sleep. We'll probably find out tomorrow what happened."

When they came down the next morning for breakfast they found Hermione already up, a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ in front of her. She was scanning it intently. Mrs. Weasley looked up from the stove as they entered the kitchen.

"Good morning, dears," she said. She sounded a bit subdued. "Ready for breakfast?"

"Yes, please," Harry said.

"Yeah, I'm starving," Ron said. Mrs. Weasley tipped sausages and eggs onto their plates which they immediately tucked into while continuing to watch Hermione read the paper. She appeared not to have noticed them although she'd shifted a bit when Ron sat beside her.

"Anyone we know dead?" Ron finally asked.

"Lord Voldemort, apparently," she said, looking at him out of the corner of her eye. "The entire paper is about the attack at Neville's grandmother's house yesterday. Here," she said, handing the paper to Harry. "See for yourself."

* * *

**You-Know-Who – Vanquished at Last?**

**T**he Wizarding world was stunned yesterday at the news that the Dark Lord had been killed during an attack at the home of Mrs. Augusta Longbottom, of Pendle, Lancashire, and her grandson Neville, who apparently killed You-Know-Who after he and a group of Death Eaters attacked and killed Mrs. Longbottom.

Both Neville Longbottom, a resident of Pendle, and Luna Lovegood, of Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon, a schoolmate who was visiting the Longbottom home, were taken to St. Mungo's for treatment of injuries received during the attack. Reports from the hospital indicate that both are recovering from their injuries. Neville, who suffered a mild concussion during the attack, could not be reached for comment about the incident. Ms. Lovegood, however, commented that she was quite amazed at Neville's bravery in the face of such opposition. "He was quite courageous," she told attendants at St. Mungo's. "When You-Know-Who killed his gran and started for us, Neville stood right up to him."

The Dark Lord, apparently in hiding since his disappearance nearly sixteen years ago following a similar attack on a family in Godric's Hollow, reappeared in June of last year when his followers mounted an attack on the Ministry of Magic itself in London, an attack which appeared to be an attempt to locate a prophecy concerning Harry Potter, who some believed was "the Chosen One," the one person who would be able to rid the Wizarding world of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

* * *

"This is insane," Harry said angrily, thrusting the paper at Ron, who took it and began reading. "The _Prophet's_ rewriting history!"

"I wish I could figure out what they're playing at," Hermione said, concerned. "They're acting like they've got their heads stuck in the sand."

Ron snorted. "Or up their –"

"RON!"

"Sorry, Mum," Ron said, turning back to the paper. "Hey, I see Luna gave the paper quite an interview about Neville and the battle."

Luna's description of Voldemort and the Death Eaters' attack and Neville's defense and victory over him read like she'd taken a Babbling Beverage or a Confusing Concoction before giving it. Worse, the interviewer hadn't tried to make sense out of it, seemingly, but simply wrote it down exactly as Luna told it. It was very characteristic of her usual, dreamy state, though, so Harry had no doubt she believed everything she'd said.

She and Neville had spent the day after his birthday (which would have been Harry's birthday, as Neville was one day older than him) installing the security devices he'd bought at the Weasleys' shop. Neville's gran had wanted them, she'd said, since she was getting older and Neville, though improving, was still nowhere near as proficient as his father Frank had been. After that she and Neville had planned to make dinner as a surprise for his grandmother when she got home, as she'd had lunch with an old friend, when Mrs. Longbottom turned up unexpectedly. Her friend hadn't met her for lunch and she couldn't get in contact with her. She'd shooed Neville and Luna out of the kitchen to make dinner herself; they'd sat in the parlor and talked about whether Hogwarts would reopen and if they'd see Harry Potter (Harry was almost surprised to see himself mentioned, the _Prophet_ now seemed to be going out of its way to avoid writing about him in anything but a bad light) again and how hard the N.E.W.T.'s were going to be when one of the security devices had gone off. ("Fred and George'll like that," Ron commented when he read that.)

They'd jumped up, carefully approached the sitting room where the alarm had gone off, but Mrs. Longbottom intercepted them and told them to let her check first. Amazingly, several Death Eaters had gained entry to the house. At this point Luna's story went nearly incoherent. The Death Eaters attacked them and Mrs. Longbottom, Neville and Luna all fought back, they using the skills they'd developed in Dumbledore's Army (Harry's eyebrows went up again, he was surprised the _Prophet_ let that get through), and Mrs. Longbottom on her years of experience. They had almost routed the Death Eaters when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named entered the house and attacked Mrs. Longbottom with the _Avada Kedavra_, killing her.

Neville went berserk, Luna said. He stunned the remaining Death Eaters and tried to disarm You-Know-Who himself, who dodged the charm and attacked again with the Killing Curse. Apparently, however, Mrs. Longbottom had done the same thing for Neville that had been done sixteen years ago when he attacked Harry Potter – with her death she set up a protection for Neville that shielded him from the Killing Curse, causing it to rebound on the Dark Lord. The rebounding spell caused the Dark Lord to explode; Luna remembers the Aurors who found them telling her that the only thing left of him was his right hand. Of the unconscious Death Eaters, no trace was found.

Other articles in that day's _Prophet_ had little more than speculation on what had actually occurred. The front of the house was heavily damaged as if by an explosion; Aurors examining the wreckage were unsure of the cause or whether a rebounded Killing Curse would act in the way described. ("The one that rebounded off of me knocked my parents entire house down," muttered Harry when he read this.)

By the next day's paper, the _Prophet_ was calling Neville "the Boy who Survived." The Ministry of Magic refused to release further information on the attack but "reliable sources" kept popping up to leak information to the paper. Neville had awakened at St. Mungo's having little or no recollection of the attack. He kept asking if his Gran was coming to visit him before he was let out of the hospital. Luna had been released but remained by Neville's side until he awakened; she had been collected by her father, who brought her back home to recover further. Even Fred and George were mentioned in the paper: they'd gone round to check on Neville themselves and were questioned by a _Prophet_ reporter on the security devices they'd sold Neville. Unofficial reports on the hand left behind confirmed that it was the Dark Lord's, though how this had been determined was not made clear in the article.

Another article in the paper caught his eye: the governors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had met the previous day to determine whether the school should be reopened for the coming school year. After taking into consideration recent events, they had been unanimous in their vote to reopen the school. _Hermione will be pleased, at least_, Harry thought distractedly. He wondered for a moment if students could reapply to finish their studies and receive their qualifications. Marcus Flint, after all, had done a year over.

By the beginning of the week after Harry's birthday, the Wizarding world was convinced that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had been killed. Tuesday morning, Harry sat at the breakfast table reading the _Prophet_. He made no outward sign, but inside he was fuming. _Why was the Ministry letting this happen?_

Harry could see only one reason: it would cause panic and division in the Wizarding community. Learning that a Dark wizard could enhance his chances of living forever by killing others was a dark, dangerous secret indeed; it would raise the level of distrust and fear even higher than it had been while Voldemort had been at large.

"Hello, Mr. Potter." Harry jumped. He hadn't heard the back door open, but even if he had, he never would have expected to hear Minerva McGonagall's voice in the Burrow's kitchen.

Harry turned around. McGonagall was dressed in her usual emerald green robe and very dark green traveling cloak, and carrying a black purse tucked under her arm. Harry stood and said, uncertainly, "Good morning, er – Professor – um, Headmistress..."

" 'Professor' will do, Mr. Potter," she said evenly.

Ron walked into the kitchen. "Harry, who are you talking –" seeing McGonagall, Ron gasped and froze.

"Hello, Mr. Weasley," McGonagall said, the corners of her mouth twitching slightly at Ron's astonishment. "Is your mother close at hand? I'd like a word with her."

"I'll – I'll go check," Ron said, backing slowly toward the door, not taking his eyes off McGonagall except to spare Harry a wide-eyed look before turning and racing away. Harry and McGonagall could hear him calling for Mrs. Weasley. "Mum! Mum! Professor McGonagall's here for you!"

"Well, Mr. Potter," McGonagall said, looking at him appraisingly. "Are you happy that the school has remained open for another year?"

"It's fine," Harry said, a bit too indifferently. He thought McGonagall would scold him for his attitude but instead she went to an entirely different subject.

"I'm stopping by St. Mungo's to see how Neville Longbottom is doing. Perhaps you'd care to join me?"

It took Harry a few moments to fathom what she'd said. "Er – yes, that would be nice. Thank you, Professor."

Hermione hurtled into the room, stopping just past the doorway to collect herself and say, in an unconvincingly surprised tone, "Why, Professor McGonagall! How nice to see you! I was pleased to see that Hogwarts will reopen this year," she went on excitedly. "Isn't that wonderful, Harry?"

"Fantastic," Harry said flatly. A suspicion about the reason for Professor McGonagall's visit had begun to form in his head.

"Hello, Miss Granger," McGonagall said, nodding at her and almost smiling. "I was just telling Mr. Potter here that I was going by to visit Mr. Longbottom at the hospital, and I wondered if he might be interested in visiting as well. Of course the invitation is open to you, too."

Hermione beamed at her Head of House. "That would be wonderful, Professor! It will be good to see how Neville is doing."

"It should be interesting," Harry added. Hermione looked at him curiously.

Mrs. Weasley came into the room followed closely by Ron. "Ah, Professor McGonagall! How are you?"

"Fine, Molly, fine. I brought some forms by for you and Arthur to look over and sign for Ginny's school year." McGonagall produced a parchment envelope from her purse and passed it to Mrs. Weasley.

"Oh thank you, Professor. I have something for you, too." Mrs. Weasley held out a rolled up scrap of parchment which McGonagall took and placed in her purse. "Would you like a cup of tea while you're here, Professor?"

"No thank you, dear, I've loads of errands to run today, I'm already hopelessly behind. Delayed as we are, the job of getting this school year started will be quite formidable." She looked at the three teenagers. "If you three want to see Neville, we'd better get started."

"What?" Ron asked, confused.

"The professor's going to see Neville at St. Mungo's," Harry explained quickly. "She said we can go along to visit him if we want."

"Excellent!" Ron said with a grin. "I've been wondering how he's been getting on these past few days."

"I'll have them back shortly, Molly," McGonagall said to Mrs. Weasley, who nodded and waved as they walked out the back door toward the gate.

Just past the gate, McGonagall turned to them over her shoulder and said, "You all know where St. Mungo's is, correct? We'll arrive outside the lobby."

"Er, Professor?" Hermione said quickly. "Harry and Ron still don't have their Apparition licenses."

"Ah, I'd forgotten about that," McGonagall said. "Thank you for reminding me, Miss Granger." She extended her arm. "Mr. Potter, you can do Side-Along with me."

"I can go with Hermione," Harry said.

"I'm sure you could, Potter," McGonagall said with some irritation in her voice. "But I'd prefer if you'd travel with me, please."

Shrugging, Harry took McGonagall's arm and they all turned on their heels; blackness enclosed Harry, pressing on his arms, legs and chest as if he were being pushed through a tight rubber tube. Just when it seemed the pressure might become unbearable, light returned and the pressure disappeared, and they were standing in front of an old store called Purge and Dowse, Ltd., inside of which was St. Mungo's.

McGonagall stepped up to the window and addressed the female dummy modeling the green nylon pinafore. "Professor Minerva McGonagall here to see Mr. Neville Longbottom on Hogwarts business," she said crisply. "With guests," she added as an afterthought. After a moment the dummy nodded slightly and its jointed finger beckoned them forward. One by one they stepped into and through the window.

In the reception area, McGonagall didn't bother with the inquiries desk, but went straight through a set of double doors and to a staircase, which she began climbing briskly.

"Do you know where Neville is, Professor?" Hermione asked a bit timidly.

"He'll be on the fourth floor," McGonagall said without looking back.

"But what room?" Hermione persisted.

"We'll know when we get there," McGonagall said, sounding a bit impatient again. Hermione and Harry looked at each other; Harry shrugged and simply followed McGonagall to see what would happen.

But it became obvious when they stepped onto the fourth floor what McGonagall had expected. They were met by two Aurors, neither of whom Harry recognized, at the head of the spell damage ward who stopped them from entering.

"Who are you here to see?" the first Auror asked McGonagall.

"I'm Headmistress McGonagall of Hogwarts, here to see Neville Longbottom on school business," McGonagall said curtly. "These fellow students of his are accompanying me."

The Auror consulted a clipboard for a moment, then nodded and said, "Room 429, ma'am. There will be a security check before you enter." He and the other Auror held the doors open for them.

McGonagall said, "Thank you, Ackerly," and the Auror did a double-take as she walked away. Once out of hearing, McGonagall said out of the corner of her mouth to Harry, "It hasn't been _that_ many years since he was at Hogwarts – did he think I wouldn't recognize him?"

She proceeded briskly down the corridor, ignoring the various pictures of Healers on the wall who kept trying to offer them advice on cures and potions, and walked up to the two Aurors in front of room 429.

They were checked with the usual long golden rods for any suspicious materials and allowed into the room. It was a semi-private, unusual at St. Mungo's but obviously necessary given the need to prevent contact with curiosity seekers, reporters (Harry idly wondered if any beetles would be about in the room) or Death Eaters seeking revenge. The room was small and spartan, clean and smelling faintly soapy. Neville was the only person in the room; the farther bed was vacant.

He was propped up in bed, reading a copy of the _Quibbler_, the magazine Luna's father published on a monthly basis. As they walked in behind McGonagall, Neville looked up and his face broke out in surprised delight.

"Professor McGonagall! Oh, and Harry! And Hermione! And Ron! Hello! I'm glad to see you all," Neville was positively beaming at them, even McGonagall, whom he'd always seemed a bit intimidated by.

"Hello, Longbottom," McGonagall said gently. "How are you feeling?"

"Pretty good!" Neville said brightly. "I was not doing too well yesterday but the Healers have been giving me a potion that cleared things up."

"What was wrong with you?" Harry asked.

"They tried to explain it to me," Neville said, looking a bit uncertain. "It had to do with 'old magic,' they said, and how You-Know-Who's spell affected me before it rebounded and destroyed him."

"We are just glad you've survived," McGonagall said as Harry and Hermione looked at each other, both wondering how Voldemort had failed to account for 'old magic' when it had had such a disastrous effect on him the last time. "I have some things for you," McGonagall continued, reaching into her purse and pulling out an envelope.

"The Hogwarts board of governors has voted to reopen the school. In light of recent events they've also decided to allow some extra freedoms to seventh-year students who are of age." She handed the envelope to Neville, who took it gingerly. "This is your consent form. Bring it with you when you arrive on September first. The exact details have not been worked out yet, but seventh-years will be allowed to leave the grounds at certain times, probably during weekends." McGonagall's voice sounded pinched, as if she were not happy with this arrangement.

"I hope you will be returning this year, Longbottom," McGonagall said, her voice softening again. "I realize the loss of your grandmother was a terrible blow to you –" Neville's eyes were bright as he looked at her, unblinking "— but you will have many friends there who will help you, as will we all," she finished, looking around significantly at Harry, Ron and Hermione. Ron looked at his feet and Hermione blushed.

Harry, however, did not take his eyes off Neville as he reacted to McGonagall's sympathetic words. "Yes, I–I'd like to return for my last year," Neville said, though his smile was somewhat wan. "I know I'd miss everyone there terribly if I didn't come back." He looked at Hermione, then at Ron and Harry. "I'm sure I would miss you all very much."

"We're going to leave now," McGonagall said, her hand gently touching his shoulder. "I have a few more errands to run today. But I look forward to seeing you at Hogwarts." Ron and Hermione both said goodbye to Neville, and Harry waved goodbye as well.

"Thanks for coming by!" Neville said loudly as they walked out the door. "I'll see you all on September first!"

McGonagall nodded to the Aurors at the door as she passed them, and to Ackerly and the other Auror at the head of the corridor, but she didn't speak again until they'd reached the first floor. As she walked past a room labeled Conference Room 102 she headed for it and tried the knob. It was locked, though a small sign on the doorframe said Unoccupied. McGonagall took out her wand and flicked it at the lock, which popped open. The small sign flipped around to say Occupied. "Everyone inside," she said hurriedly, motioning them into the room.

Once inside with the door closed, the Transfiguration teacher turned to them, her expression looking rather more agitated than her usual imperturbable demeanor.

"What's going on, Professor," Hermione asked, looking alarmed.

Harry, who'd half-expected something of the sort to happen, said nothing. Even as Deputy Headmistress, McGonagall had never delivered school information _personally_. Yet Mrs. Weasley hadn't seemed really surprised to see her in the Burrow's kitchen. Something was definitely dodgy here.

"Before we leave here," McGonagall said slowly, looking at Harry, Ron and Hermione in turn. "I want us all to be clear on some things. First, Neville: Did any of you notice anything strange or unusual about his manner?"

The three looked at one another, but Ron spoke first. "He didn't seem very upset when you mentioned that his gran had died, Professor."

"I noticed that too," Hermione said, her eyes narrowing as she recalled Neville's tone. "Neville has a lot of affection for his grandmother."

"He seemed to follow only what we talked about," Harry said. "He only reacted when you mentioned it, Professor; otherwise he was surprised to see us, or telling us how he felt, or was thinking about Hogwarts. What does it mean, Professor?"

"Neville," McGonagall said, heavily, "took his grandmother's death very badly indeed. When he first woke up in the hospital, he attempted to take his own life. He very nearly succeeded." They all gasped at that – Neville, an attempted suicide?

"The Healers attempted to find out the cause," McGonagall continued after sitting in one of the chairs around the conference table. "They thought it might be an aftereffect of You-Know-Who's curse. But the death of Augusta Longbottom was first and foremost in Neville's mind, as if it had been seared into his brain."

Hermione looked anguished. "It must have been horrible for him!"

"I don't know how I'd feel if my mum was killed by You-Know-Who," Ron said, grimacing, "But I know I wouldn't want to kill myself over it, or act like Neville did today. I'd want to kill whoever killed her!"

McGonagall sighed. "I understand, Mr. Weasley. But Neville has gone through a lot of pain in his life – his parents tortured to insanity, and his grandmother, though well-meaning, has not shown him the love his mother and father had for him. What you need to realize is that his reaction to her death does not match the feelings he has had for these past sixteen years."

"Are you saying, Professor, that he _shouldn't_ feel unhappy that she's gone?" Harry said incredulously.

"Not at all, Potter!" McGonagall looked at him, frowning. "But his reaction was far deeper than anyone who knew him could have expected, and more deeply rooted than any normal shock could have accounted for."

"So what are you saying, Professor?" Hermione asked, now confused. "That something made those feelings so intense inside him?"

"The Healers don't know," McGonagall said tiredly. "A quirk of whatever happened to him – whether by design or accident – or simply something within him. Whatever it was, they were forced to use a Memory Charm on him –"

"What? Why?" Harry cried. McGonagall looked at Harry, then away for a moment. When she finally looked back, she did not look him in the eye.

"Because the Ministry wants him back in school this fall, functioning normally, more or less," McGonagall said quietly. "They want _every_ student that's supposed to be in school this fall, there and acting normally."

So there it was, Harry knew. It was the damned Ministry again, poking itself into places where it had no business going.

"I can see why you came to the Burrow, Professor," Harry said tightly, keeping his anger at her in check. "To persuade me to return to school." Ron and Hermione were looking at him in astonishment – they could hear the fury in his voice. He ignored their stares.

"Quite astute of you, Mr. Potter," McGonagall said, a bare tinge of admiration in her voice. "But I think you'll agree, once you look at the situation, that returning to school will be in your best interests, no matter how the Ministry feels about it."

"Why'd you let me bring along reinforcements?" Harry asked, indicating Ron and Hermione on either side of him.

"Because," McGonagall replied immediately, "whether they planned to leave with you or not, the advantages of returning to school this year applies to them as much as it does to you.

"Whatever plan or goal you may have, whether it came from Professor Dumbledore or is something of your own devising, the apparent death of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has given you a reprieve and an opportunity to further your education into the bargain."

"How d'you know it has anything to do with You-Know-Who?" Ron blurted out.

McGonagall's square glasses flashed as she turned to him. "I've been around Albus Dumbledore over the last fifty years, Mr. Weaseley. I do know _something_ about his interest in You-Know-Who."

_But maybe not as much as _we_ know_, Harry thought. "Do you think Voldemort is dead, Professor?" he asked.

McGonagall had winced slightly as Harry said the name, but her tone was stead as she replied. "He was able to return before," she said. "I see no reason to believe he will not be back again, especially considering some of the events that are supposed to have taken place at the Longbottom home, if the news reports can be believed."

"Why do you say that, Professor?" Hermione asked.

"Some of Luna's account of what occurred in the Longbottom home are rather confused, even by her usual standards. I discussed this with Professor Flitwick, and he tells me Luna is quite bright, even by Ravenclaw standards. I do not believe that she would have given the interview in the _Prophet_ as it was written, and neither does he."

"What do you believe, then, Professor?" Harry wanted to know.

"I believe that she was given a Babbling Beverage potion," McGonagall replied.

Hermione nodded knowingly. "That would explain it! We were saying exactly that while we were reading it."

McGonagall nodded. "The effect of a Babbling Beverage is to confuse a person's speech such that they do not realize they are speaking nonsense. Under the effects of the potion, in their own mind, they believe they are being perfectly clear and understandable."

"But everyone else hears complete nonsense! Oh, poor Luna!" Hermione said, looking distressed. "She'll be crushed when she reads that interview in the Prophet."

"By which time it will be too late to retract any of it," McGonagall said flatly.

"So, what can we do, Professor?" Harry finally asked, trying to sum up. He already knew what she was going to say. For Harry, it would be a matter of what Ron and Hermione wanted most.

"Come back to Hogwarts this year," McGonagall said at once. "The new … guidelines … put in place by the governors, at the … _insistence_ of some influential members and alumni, can only work in your favor, if you should need to leave the school during weekends for whatever activities you feel prudent."

Harry measured his words carefully. "Are you saying, Professor, that we'll be able to leave school grounds with your blessings? To do whatever we want, wherever we want?"

McGonagall nodded. "Within the guidelines of Ministry rules, of course." The corner of her mouth twitched almost imperceptibly.

"Why didn't you have consent forms for us, then?" Ron asked, eyeing her skeptically.

In answer McGonagall reached into her purse and pulled out three envelopes. "I have them right here, Mr. Weasley. I wanted you to understand my motivations. I cannot force any of you to return to the school. I hope that you will, both for Neville's sake and for your own futures. Can I count on seeing the three of you back at Hogwarts this year?"

Harry looked at Hermoine and Ron. Hermoine looked back expectantly, while Ron was watching both of them carefully. Harry could guess what each of them was thinking. Hermione was thinking, _Please, Harry, it is such a great opportunity to finish our last years_; Ron, more pragmatic, was thinking, _You'll never hear the end of it if we don't go back and You-Know-Who turns out to be dead, mate_. It was obvious that Hermione wanted to return to school, if possible, and that Ron was hoping to avoid having to side with Harry against her. Harry knew then what he had to do.

He looked at McGonagall. "Yeah, we'll be there."

"Splendid!" McGonagall beamed, handing each of them an envelope with their name on it. He took out her wand, flicked it at the door, which popped open, then led them out into the corridor beyond. "Now I must be off. Miss Granger, I trust you can help Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley with their Side-Along Apparition back to the Burrow."

"Where are you off to next, Professor?" Hermione inquired.

"Oh." McGonagall sobered, then said quietly. "Today is Augusta Longbottom's funeral. I will be attending it."

Hearing this only made Harry feel worse for Neville, who couldn't even attend his own grandmother's funeral. "Maybe, perhaps we could go too, Professor?"

McGonagall gave him a small smile and a pat on the shoulder. "It's nice of you to offer, Harry, but you might look a bit out of place there. If Neville were there it might have been okay. But as it is… best leave it alone."

Harry nodded, understanding. They followed McGonagall out of the building, where she Disapparated. A few moments later, they disappeared as well, leaving the ugly female dummy staring silently out the store window.


	10. Witness For the Defense

Chapter 10

**Witness For The Defense**

The next few weeks were a blur as Hermione and Mrs. Weasley rushed around preparing for the new school year, in spite, Harry thought, of anything they could actually _do_ until they received their booklists. The only important date looming for Harry was his Apparition test coming up the second Saturday of August.

"I think she's gone mental," Ron muttered one evening while they were hiding up in Ron's room playing a game of wizard chess.

"Hermione, or your mum?" Harry looked up from deciding which of his pieces to sacrifice to a fork maneuver Ron had just tricked him into falling for.

"Take your pick," Ron said gloomily. "I thought Mum would have a fit when we told her we were going back this fall, she hugged me so hard. Both she and Hermione think we're going to be made Head Boy and Girl."

"You could, you know," Harry said encouragingly. "You've been a prefect the last two years."

"Yeah, well…" Ron shrugged, but he looked more confident after Harry's comment. "We'll see, when the letters get here."

They practiced Apparating, jumping back and forth between the garden and the paddock, both places being secluded from view of Muggle eyes, until finally both Harry and Ron felt confident they could Apparate, at least over short distances, with no fear of splinching.

Apparating would never get any more pleasant, but at least more exposure to it had acclimated them to some degree. Hermione had told them, after watching them flick back and forth, "I just try not to think about it at all, and concentrate on something pleasant. Before you know it, it's over."

"Sort of like being hit by a Bludger," Ron muttered to Harry after Hermione had gone. "It feels _so_ good when it stops." Harry laughed.

By the date of the Apparition test the booklists and other information from the school had not yet arrived, but the Weasleys had decided to make a day of it in Diagon Alley while Harry and Ron attended the test at the Ministry.

"Should be a doss," Ron said bracingly. "I haven't lost an eyebrow once this past week."

However, since Ginny still could not Apparate, they once again got out the Floo Powder and made the trip to Fred and George's shop, who greeted them enthusiastically.

"Busy today," Fred said, coming into the back room just long enough to greet them before returning to the floor. "Lot of folks are in town today for that test, I expect."

The shop was busy, mostly with teenagers who'd come for the Apparition test and were distracting themselves by looking round the various shops of Diagon Alley. Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was usually a huge draw for younger teenagers as well, especially now that the fall school term was only a few weeks away.

Soon it was time to leave for the Ministry, and Hermione hugged Harry and Ron goodbye. "Good luck," she added to Ron, giving him a kiss on the cheek. "Remember, Destination, Determination, Deliberation."

Ron smiled weakly at her, rolling his eyes as he turned away. Mr. Weasley, who was accompanying them to the Ministry for their tests, clapped his hands together and said, "All right boys, let's go get you your Apparition licenses!" They sat out toward the exit to Diagon Alley.

The Leaky Cauldron was much busier these days since Voldemort's apparent demise. Tom the barman gave them a cheery wave as he served drinks to a nearly packed house. The trip along Charing Cross Road was brisk; Mr. Weasley, as usual, was staring at the Muggles they passed rather more than was normal, eliciting some stares and frowns, in return. "Beautiful day for a walk, isn't it?" he would say to those who caught him staring, even though the day was hot and most people had beads of perspiration on their faces.

They entered through the visitors' entrance and were directed to Level Six, the Department of Magical Transportation, to the Apparition Test Center. "Will we have to wait long, d'you think, Dad?" Ron asked as they entered the elevator.

"I'm not sure how busy it'll be," Mr. Weasley mused. The elevator closed and began its rattling journey to the level. "August and September are not usually busy – everyone usually applies earlier during the summer, in June and July." They arrived at Level Six and took the corridor toward the Apparition Test Center.

The Ministry's Apparition Test Center was a broad, open expanse filled with rows of chairs for applicants, cubicles for Ministry personnel and a section set aside for the actual tests.

Ron was looking around in apparent bewilderment. "This isn't set up like what they had at school," he whispered to Harry.

As if he'd heard Ron's comment, Mr. Weasley said, "It's not quite as organized when they perform examinations offsite, as at Hogwarts, for example." He stepped up to a post with the sign "Take a Number" fastened over a peg with strips of parchment hanging from it. Taking two, he handed one each to Harry and Ron. Glancing at the parchment, Harry was surprised to see an older-looking witch smiling wanly up at him.

"Just have a seat, dear," the witch told him. "I'll be around to collect you shortly." Harry and Ron joined the ranks of applicants waiting their turn. It was hard to tell how long it was going to take; groups of two and three would get up from the chairs intermittently, as a witch or wizard from the Test Center would beckon them toward the examination section.

Mr. Weasley handed Ron a scrap of parchment. "What's this?" Ron asked, looking at it.

"It's your license fee," Mr. Weasley said, sitting down next to Ron. "I came down to pay for it yesterday so we wouldn't have to get in line." He indicated a row of people who had queued up in front of a desk labeled **Cashier**.

"Oh. Thanks, Dad," Ron said, and fell silent.

"Nervous, boys?" Mr. Weasley asked conversationally. Harry shrugged and Ron said confidently, "We've been practicing."

"Well, I don't want to hear about it," Mr. Weasley said, lowering his voice although he was still smiling jovially. "I'm supposed to report cases of unlicensed Apparition, you know." Ron opened his mouth to protest but Mr. Weasley held up a placating hand. "I didn't say I was _going_ to, Ron. Let's face it, if I was that type Fred and George would probably be in Azkaban by now." Both Ron and Harry grinned at that.

But just then a familiar figure appeared in the corner of Harry's eye and he turned toward the examination section. With a gasp he came up out of his seat, his wand drawn. "Mr. Weasley, look!" Harry cried, pointing at a tall, pale boy walking in their direction. Mr. Weasley, startled, followed Harry's pointing wand, as did Ron and several other people sitting nearby.

"Malfoy!" Ron hissed, standing as well. And indeed it was Draco Malfoy, accompanied by his tall, coldly elegant mother Narcissa, walking out of the examination section, an Apparition license in his hands. They both stopped, seeing Harry, Ron and Mr. Weasley, who had stood as well, looking at them. Draco's hand went into his robe, but his mother put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

"No, Draco," she said coolly, staring haughtily at the three of them. "There's no need for that. You have every bit as much right to be here as they do. The law is with us on this."

"Lower your wand, Harry," Mr. Weasley said quietly. Reluctantly, Harry complied. Narcissa walked directly up to them, handing a piece of parchment to Mr. Weasley with a cold smile on her lips.

"Just so you'll know, _Arthur_," she said, handing him a sheet of parchment, her arm extended as if she preferred to be no nearer to him than necessary. "Here is the Ministry order releasing Draco into my custody until his hearing. I wouldn't want you sending Aurors on a useless errand to try to detain us. Or anyone else." She looked directly at Harry as she said this.

Mr. Weasley scanned the parchment for several seconds, then handed it back to Narcissa. "It all seems to be in order," he said curtly. "As far as I can tell," he couldn't help but add.

"Good." She tucked the parchment away in her robe. "Come, Draco, let's be going." Draco, who'd stood just behind her, his arms folded across his chest with an arrogant sneer on his face, said smugly, "See you around, Potter. Maybe sooner than you think." He turned and walked after his mother.

Harry stared after him, almost in shock. He'd never expected to see Draco Malfoy again unless it was in a duel. In fact, he'd hardly thought of him at all – it was Voldemort, and Snape, that he'd been concerned with.

Ron was equally appalled. "How can he just walk out of here like nothing happened? Two months ago Harry chased him and Snape out of Hogwarts – now he and his mum walk about in here like they've got a free pass to the place!"

"That's not entirely true, Ron," Mr. Weasley said, but his tone wasn't encouraging. "We'd heard that the Wizengamot had released him into his mother's custody pending a hearing later this month –"

"A hearing about what?" Harry blurted out.

"Let's not discuss it here," Mr. Weasley said, his tone now low; several other people in the waiting area were watching and listening to them.

There was a small prick on his thumb, and Harry said "Ouch!" and looked at the parchment still in his hand. The witch there was holding up a needle, looking impatient. "Get a move on, will you?" she said irritably. "You're up next."

Distracted with thoughts of Malfoy and what the pending hearing Mr. Weasley spoke of might be about, Harry almost failed his Apparition test. The witch performing the examination had him Apparate along a series of stop points, which he had to complete in under the specified time. Harry missed one of the stops, but left behind no part of himself, not even an eyebrow.

"Acceptable," the witch said, sounding severe, but Harry merely mumbled an indifferent thanks when she handed him his license then wagged a stern finger at him saying, "Remember: Destination, Determination, Deliberation are the keys."

He met Ron and Mr. Weasley at the entrance to the Examination section; Ron had gone first and was holding his own Apparition license proudly. "Piece of cake, eh, Harry?"

"Yeah," Harry said, holding up his license as well. But his mind was now completely absorbed by the mystery of Draco Malfoy's seeming immunity to prosecution.

Another surprise awaited them in the Atrium. As they exited the elevator a tall, young Auror with dark eyes stepped in front of them and said, "Harry Potter?"

"Me," Harry replied, looking the young Auror over carefully. He was not much more older than Harry or Ron; he must've finished his Auror training fairly recently.

The Auror nodded and handed Harry a roll of parchment. "This is for you, Mr. Potter."

Out of the corner of his eye Harry saw Mr. Weasley make a motion as if to object, but he accepted the scroll and asked, "What is it?"

"It's an order to appear as a witness at a hearing next week before the Wizengamot," the young Auror said, and started to walk away.

"Wait a minute," Harry said. The Auror stopped and looked back at him. "A witness for what hearing?"

"I do not know," the Auror said. "It may be in the order." He walked away.

Harry unraveled the scroll and read,

* * *

You are hereby Ordered to appear and give testimony before the Wizengamot on August 14th, at 2:00 p.m. Failure to appear will result in charges of interference in a lawful inquiry being brought against you by the Wizengamot.

Thank you for your cooperation.

Rufus F. Scrimgeour

Minister of Magic

* * *

Without a word he handed the scroll to Mr. Weasley, who stood reading it for several moments. When he continued to say nothing Harry finally asked, "What do you think it's about, sir?"

"No idea," Mr. Weasley said, looking puzzled. "But if I had to hazard a guess, I would say it has something to do with that Malfoy boy. His mother said he had a hearing."

"And he did say that I might see him again sooner than I thought," Harry said, remembering.

"He seemed pretty confident for someone who's going to have you testifying against him," Ron said sourly, remembering Malfoy's smug expression. "Maybe he doesn't know you were there."

"Unless someone told him," Harry said grimly. At Ron's affronted look he added hastily, "Not _you_, Ron. Scrimgeour said they'd figured out someone was with Dumbledore when he landed on the Astronomy Tower that night. I didn't deny it was me. In fact, I pretty much admitted it.

"What I _don't_ know," Harry continued, holding up the parchment. "Is whether I'll be testifying _for_ Malfoy or _against_ him."

Ron looked horrified. "How could you possibly testify _for_ Malfoy?"

"I don't know. He wanted to kill Dumbledore, he even said so. He just couldn't _do_ it, even when other Death Eaters showed up to encourage him. He admitted he fixed the Vanishing Cabinets so Death Eaters could use them to get into Hogwarts."

"Making him complicit in both Dumbledore's death and Bill's injuries," Mr. Weasley said stonily. He looked at both of them. "You two go on back to the shop; I want to check a few things about this hearing before I follow you." Leaving them, he strode back toward the elevators.

Harry and Ron exited the Ministry and wasted no time putting their new licenses into practice by Apparating immediately back to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. There they were greeted by the cheers of the twins, Ginny Hermione and Verity, cheers that quickly dissipated as they told who they'd met before their tests and what Harry'd been given afterwards.

"Load of dung, if you ask me," Fred said flatly when Harry had finished his story. "Not even telling Harry what he's going to testify for."

"Unusual but not illegal," Mr. Weasley, who had joined the group while Harry was telling them the events of the day. "There are special cases that require the nature of the hearing to be kept quiet."

"Only in case of underage wizards or for security reasons," George put in. "Malfoy's seventeen, so he's of age; maybe it has to do with Hogwarts security, because Malfoy used the Vanishing Cabinets to get Death Eaters into the school."

"Possibly," Mr. Weasley admitted. "But that's moot now anyway; I know that Professor McGonagall had the Vanishing Cabinet in the Room of Requirement secured from further use, and she's had enchantments added to the school to prevent a reoccurrence with any other kind of vanishing device."

The "celebration" the day had started out to be was rapidly disintegrating. "Whatever the Ministry has in mind," Harry said, trying to sound confident, "I'll come in and testify. I certainly won't have any problem telling them what Malfoy did on the Astronomy Tower that night – I doubt if anyone could excuse that without looking like they're wholly on the Malfoy's side."

Encouraged by Harry's words, the group rallied and set out for something to eat, enjoying lunch at a newly reopened Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, this one now being run by the son of the original owner, Philemon.

Hermione, sitting next to Harry at lunch, pested him for every detail of their visit to the Ministry, and not just to hear about his Apparition test. "Doesn't it seem strange to you," she remarked after he'd described the Auror who'd given him the Ministry order. "That the Auror knew you were going to be there at that time?"

"I hadn't thought so," Harry said, still trying to finish the pot pie he'd ordered. "If anything, Malfoy's mum went and told them I was there."

"I doubt it," Hermione said pensively. "They would have known the moment you checked in."

"But we'd just barely gotten in line," Ron protested from Harry's other side. "We hadn't even seen the examiner yet."

"Right," said Harry. "I remember, when we finally got to her, I almost forgot I had my certificate. I was going to go back and pay for it until Ron reminded me."

Hermione looked at him for a few moments, then shouted "The _certificate_!" so loudly that everyone at the table looked at her. "Sorry," she said, then leaned in closer to Harry. "That's it," she whispered excitedly. "The Ministry had issued that certificate to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley for your birthday present. They knew when you'd be in to use it – the very next time Apparition examinations were being given!"

"But so what?" Ron shrugged. "They know where he's been the last month – at the Burrow. If they wanted to give him something they could just pop in and do it without all this fancy footwork and such."

"It does seem like a lot of work to go to, now that I think about it like that," Harry told her, almost apologetically. "If they want me to come in and rattle off Draco Malfoy's crimes, I think I can oblige them."

Hermione didn't appear convinced, but she offered no more ideas about why things had gone as they did at the Ministry that day.

The afternoon of the 14th found Harry once again entering the Ministry of Magic and heading to court. He made his way to Security where Eric once again checked him for proscribed items and examined his wand. He then called for an Auror who took him, not to Courtroom Ten, but to the second level where an elderly wizard was apparently waiting for him.

"This is the Senior Bailiff of the Wizengamot," the Auror said to Harry as they stopped in front of his desk. The Bailiff was writing slowly on a parchment scroll; he didn't look up for several seconds until the Auror softly cleared his throat.

"Ah, there you are, Julian," the old man smiled. "And this must be Mr. Harry Potter." He jumped up with surprising alacrity and came around to shake Harry's hand. "Very good to finally meet you, young sir! Thank you, Julian," he said to the Auror. "I'll take him from here." Julian nodded and left.

"Now, let's see about getting you situated." The old man looked around his office, and Harry followed suit. The office was a study in carefully-controlled anarchy. There were piles of parchment scrolls in boxes stacked along the walls, a bookshelf crammed with both regular books and piles of parchment scrolls as well, and a large stand with cage hanging from it; inside the cage was perched a large owl, sleeping peacefully.

"Situated?" Harry echoed. "How long am I going to be here?"

The old wizard smiled softly and tapped his nose. "Good question, Mr. Potter, good question indeed!" He walked over and began emptying a chair of its contents.

_Is he playing with me_? Harry wondered, but as he thought it he realized that the old man was probably just eccentric and used to his way of doing things. Instead of an angry retort, he asked calmly, "Do you know how long I'm going to be here, sir?"

"Oh dear me, no, I'm afraid I don't," the wizard said, then gestured to the now-empty chair. "There you are, Mr. Potter!"

Harry sat down. The old man took his place behind the desk again, regarding Harry with a smile. "You know," he said, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "I daresay I've always wanted to meet the famous Harry Potter, but now it seems a bit of an anticlimax."

"Because of Neville Longbottom?" Harry asked, already guessing the answer.

"Indeed! Well," he added almost apologetically, "I mean no disrespect to you, young sir, but Neville Longbottom did finally vanquish You-Know-Who for once and all!"

_Except for his Horcruxes_, Harry thought. He decided to change tactics. "So, what's this hearing about, sir?"

The old man shrugged. "Blessed if I know, young Harry. And please call me Abelyard."

"Er – thank you, sir," Harry hesitated. "You mean to say, you're the Bailiff for the Wizengamot –"

"_Senior_ Bailiff, if you please, Harry" Abelyard said with a wink.

"– _Senior_ Bailiff, and yet you don't know what it's about?"

"Oh, I have my ideas," Abelyard said, waving a hand airily. "I've some keen deductive capabilities, mind you, no matter what Princess Dolores says about me –"

"You mean Dolores Umbridge?" Harry said quickly.

"The very one. You've heard of her, then?" Abelyard inquired.

"Yes, unfortunately," Harry said, trying to sound commiserating. "She taught at Hogwarts for a year."

"Ah, indeed!" Abelyard beamed. "Best year we had around here in ages, I can tell you! Now that You-Know-Who is gone, it would be capital if you could have her back for another year or two."

Harry shuddered and didn't respond; instead, he asked, "Is Umbridge in charge of this hearing?"

Abelyard chortled, "Oh no, young Harry, and that's thanks to _you_, you know."

"Me?"

"Oh my, yes. After that absolutely dreadful attempt she made to be quit of you and your two friends – the interoffice memo of that day was priceless, I'll take my vow on that! – she's been almost a perfect little angel around here. Well – at least for the most part," the old wizard averred. "She still thinks her dung doesn't smell, you know, but she keeps her toes in line when the Lion's around."

"You mean Scrimgeour?" Harry guessed.

"Righto. He's –" at that moment a parchment airplane landed in front of the old man. "Here now," he said, opening it and reading it carefully. "Well, that was quick."

"What?" Harry asked.

"They're ready for you." Abelyard looked up at him, a bemused expression on his face. "That was quick. Ah, well, _tempus fugit_," he shrugged, not noticing that the clock on the wall beside him suddenly began furiously spinning its hands. "Let's be off, then." He stood and motioned for Harry to follow him. They made their way back to the elevators and descended down to the Ninth Level, then made their way to the left, down the stairs, and along the dark, damp corridor that led to Courtroom Ten.

In front of the door that led to courtroom was an Auror, a stout, stone-faced man with light brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. "Here's young Harry Potter," Abelyard announced as they approached. "Ready to do his civic duty as a witness for the Wizengamot." He beamed at the Auror as they stood side by side.

The Auror, looking bored, said, "Thank you, Abelyard, I'll take him from here." Abelyard nodded and with a cheery wave turned and went back the way he came, leaving Harry and the Auror alone outside the courtroom.

The Auror opened the door and gestured to Harry. "In you go, then, they're waiting for you." Harry walked in. Courtroom Ten had changed very little since the last time he'd been in it. The rows of high benches on either side of him were empty, as they had been before, but on the benches before him were several dozen members of the Wizengamot in their plum-colored robes. In the very center of the front row sat Rufus Scrimgeour, staring down at him with an unreadable expression. Harry scanned the other faces; the only two familiar ones that he saw were the two elderly witches who had known Dumbledore, Elders Skuld and Norncombe. He met their eyes, but did nothing else.

"The witness being present," Scrimgeour said suddenly, as if starting in the middle of a speech. "Questioning will resume." Scrimgeour's yellow, piercing eyes fixed on him. "Take a seat."

Harry looked over at the chair in the middle of the room and froze. Seated there and looking at him was Draco Malfoy, wearing an expression that flickered between loathing at Harry's presence and amusement at the look of shock on his face. It wasn't exactly unexpected, but the reality of being a witness at a hearing for Malfoy took a bit to sink in. After a few seconds Harry recovered enough of his voice to say, "Where?"

"Ah." Scrimgeour's tone was mild irritation. He produced his wand and with a flourish produced a rather plain armless chair a few feet from where Malfoy sat. Harry sat down, noticing that the chains fastened to the center chair were not binding Malfoy.

Once Harry was seated and Scrimgeour's wand was away he looked to the end of the row and asked, "Are you ready?"

"Yes, sir," responded an unfamiliar voice. Harry had expected to hear Percy Weasley's, who'd been in court the last time he was here, but it was another young wizard Harry didn't recognize.

But there was no time to wonder about it as Scrimgeour turned to Harry and said, "Please state your full name."

"Harry James Potter," Harry said. He kept his gaze on Scrimgeour, knowing that Malfoy was staring at him.

"Were you present on the Astronomy Tower of Hogwarts school on the night Albus Dumbledore was killed?"

"I was," Harry replied, looking at Malfoy, who was now staring malevolently at him with narrowed eyes.

"How did you arrive there?"

"By broom. When we arrived at Hogsmeade, Madam Rosemerta saw us and pointed out the Dark Mark that appeared over the Tower. She let us borrow a pair of brooms so we could travel there quickly."

"Mr. Malfoy has stated that he and Professor Dumbledore appeared to be alone on the roof," Scrimgeour said. "How was it, then, that he couldn't see you?"

"I was wearing an Invisibility Cloak," Harry said.

Malfoy snorted. "Might've known you were skulking about under that thing," he muttered.

"Mr. Malfoy, please remain silent until you're asked to respond," Scrimgeour said sternly. Malfoy lapsed into a sullen silence.

"Why were you wearing an Invisibility Cloak in the first place, Mr. Potter?" The simpering, girlish voice came from behind him, and Harry looked around to see Dolores Umbridge in the row of benches behind him, to the right of the doorway. Next to her sat a hooded figure whose features Harry could not make out; the shadow cast by the hood was too deep.

Why was Umbridge seated there, away from the rest of the Wizengamot? Harry wondered. And who was the figure seated next to her? But before he could ponder more on those mysteries, Scrimgeour said impatiently, "Answer the question, Mr. Potter."

"I – Professor Dumbledore wanted me to get Professor Snape and bring him back to the Astronomy Tower without attracting any attention," Harry replied. He did _not_ want to mention that Dumbledore needed Snape's help to recover from the effects of a potion he'd drank in the cave where they'd found the locket that had turned out to be a fake Horcrux. "But before I could leave we heard someone coming up the tower steps. Professor Dumbledore motioned me to step back and Malfoy burst through the door and disarmed him."

"Malfoy disarmed _Dumbledore_?" Umbridge said in a tone that hovered between astonishment and delight. "I wonder how a sixth-year managed to disarm a holder of the Order of Merlin, First Class?"

"Is that a question?" Harry asked pointedly. It was one he was actually anxious to answer. "It seemed to me that Professor Dumbledore allowed Draco to disarm him." He turned to look directly at Malfoy as he continued. "He knew Draco didn't have enough courage to kill him. He offered to protect Draco and his mother against Voldemort, but Draco couldn't decide what to do. He was afraid." There was a small, grim smile on Harry's face as he watched Malfoy's features twist at these words.

"Moving on, then," Umbridge said, ignoring Harry's expression. "What happened after that?"

"More of Voldemort's people showed up," Harry went on, noticing that several figures on the benches in front of him flinched upon hearing the Dark Lord's name. "The werewolf, Fenrir Greyback. Three other Death Eaters. Professor Dumbledore seemed to know them. They talked for a while. They were trying to get Malfoy to kill Dumbledore but he still couldn't do it, even with four Death Eaters behind him."

"And then what happened?" Umbridge pressed.

"Greyback wanted to kill the professor, but the large Death Eater stopped him with a spell that threw him against a wall."

"And then?"

"Then Snape showed up." Harry stopped to take a few deep breaths. He still grew angry thinking about this moment. "He stood before Professor Dumbledore. He looked angry and full of hatred. I – I thought the Professor was pleading with him at first, but he must have expected Snape to help him. Instead, he – he used the _Avada Kedavra_, killing him."

Nearly everyone in the row of benches in front of Harry lowered their heads for a moment, but Umbridge plowed on. "Mr. Malfoy has said that Dumbledore looked sick and could barely stand. Was something wrong with him?"

"He –" Harry hesitated. "He had been through a lot that evening; I suppose he was tired from all of it."

"All of what?" Scrimgeour put in. "What had you and Dumbledore been doing that evening?"

That was the question Harry had been dreading. He had no intention of telling anyone, not even the Wizengamot, what he and Professor Dumbledore had been doing, but it was going to be hard to refuse a direct question. What could he say?

"And how is that question relevant to the line of inquiry at hand?" another voice said behind him, and Harry looked back again. This time the voice had come from behind and to the right of him. Seated in the benches to the left of the door were Professor Lupin, who had spoken, and "Mad-Eye" Moody, both quite alone in their section. Lupin was staring intently at Scrimgeour, but Mad-Eye, catching Harry's eye, gave a wink.

"The relevance," Scrimgeour answered loudly, "Is that Professor Dumbledore was absent from Hogwarts several times over the course of the school year, and we know from Mr. Malfoy's testimony and from interviews of patrons in the Hog's Head that he was not there earlier in the night in question, although he told Madam Rosemerta that he was headed there for a drink."

"Poppycock," growled Moody. "Nobody in the Hog's Head _remembered_ seeing Dumbledore in there that night. That's not the same as sayin' he _wasn't there_."

"_Including_ the barman," Scrimgeour pointed out. "Who, I'm sure, would have remembered serving Dumbledore if he had been there."

Madam Skuld leaned forward. "Before we continue along such contentious lines, it might be best to hear any other pertinent details about the killing."

"Very well," Scrimgeour said reluctantly. His gaze returned to Harry. "What happened after Professor Snape killed the headmaster?"

"He told the other Death Eaters to leave quickly. I followed, trying to catch up to Snape."

"And did you?" one of the other members of the Wizengamot asked.

"Yes, out near Hagrid's cabin on the grounds."

"Did he attack you?"

_What an odd question_, Harry thought. "Of course he attacked me!"

"Are you _sure_ about that, Mr. Potter?" Umbridge, from behind him, said in a simpering voice. "Are you sure he didn't just parry _your_ attacks?"

"He attacked me!" Harry repeated angrily. "I called him a coward, and he screamed and attacked me. Bu – er, Hagrid's hippogriff Witherwings attacked him in return, and Snape ran out through the gates and Disapparated."

"You haven't answered the question," Umbridge said implacably, in her maddening, little-girl voice. "Did you attack him first?"

"I was trying to stop him from escaping after killing Professor Dumbledore!" Harry shouted.

"You were trying to _kill_ _him_," Draco said viciously. "And you were trying to kill _me_ as well!"

"If I wanted _you_ dead," Harry retorted, "you wouldn't be sitting there right now."

"Order," Scrimgeour said sharply. Both Harry and Malfoy fell silent, looking at him. "Mr. Potter, after Professor Dumbledore was killed, you pursued Snape, Malfoy and the Death Eaters out of the castle and onto the grounds, is that correct?"

"Yes," Harry said.

"When you caught up with Snape, he told Mr. Malfoy to run then stopped to confront you, is that correct as well?"

"Yes," Harry said again. He didn't like where this seemed to be going.

"Did you attack him several times, with him simply parrying your attacks and not counterattacking?"

"He _did_ attack me, after I called him a coward," Harry insisted. "He slashed his wand at me, and something hit me in the face and knocked me down, but before he could do anything else, er, Witherwings, Hagrid's hippogriff, attacked him and he ran for the gates and disappeared before I could find my wand again."

He fell silent, and murmurs and whispered comments could be heard throughout the courtroom. Harry couldn't tell what they were about, but after a few moments one of the members, Madam Norncombe as it turned out, asked him, "Mr. Potter, are you sure that is how the confrontation between you and Severus Snape ended?"

"Yes, I am," Harry said. The murmurings continued. Even Scrimgeour was conversing in whispers with people sitting near him. Harry turned his head to glance at Umbridge sitting behind him. Her expression was unreadable except for a ghost of a smile on her lips. The hooded figure sitting next to her seemed not to have moved at all. Looking over his other shoulder, Harry could see Lupin and Moody conversing in whispers as well. He stared for a few moments, trying to make eye contact with either of them, but they never looked his way.

"You don't have a clue what's going on, do you, Potter?" Malfoy whispered. Harry looked at him. Malfoy had a sneer on his pale, sharp face.

"I expect you don't either, Malfoy," Harry retorted.

"You'd be surprised what I know," Malfoy said, his face breaking into a smug grin. Harry turned away.

Scrimgeour was signaling for silence. When all the murmurs died away he addressed Harry. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Potter. You are dismissed."

Harry remained seated for several seconds; he wasn't really sure what had just happened. He stood up and walked slowly toward the door, looking at both Umbridge and the hooded figure next to her on his right, and Lupin and Moody, who were now studiously avoiding his gaze, on his left.

None of this had felt right. Malfoy was too smug, and he felt like it had something to do with Umbridge's presence. Was she advocating for him, somehow? And what were Lupin and Moody doing here in the first place? Did they have some reason to care what happened to Malfoy as well?

Whatever the underlying reasons, Harry was not going to find out, at least today, what they were. He opened the iron-shod door and passed through it and out of the courtroom, pulling it closed behind him.


	11. Jonathan Crown

Chapter 11

**Jonathan Crown**

Harry told Ron and Hermione what had happened at the hearing; neither of them could make sense of what had happened. The presence of Umbridge and the hooded individual in the benches, as well as Lupin and Moody, was a mystery. Harry couldn't even say whether Malfoy had been found guilty of anything or not; after he'd left the courtroom he was quickly whisked to an exit and sent on his way.

More welcome news awaited them at the Burrow. Owls from Hogwarts had arrived in the afternoon while they'd all been out, bringing the booklists for their seventh year.

Neither Ron nor Hermione were listed as Head Boy or Head Girl, however, although they both found prefect's badges in their envelopes. They would have to wait until September 1 on the Hogwarts Express to find out who'd been given those honors.

"It had better not be Pansy Parkinson," said Hermione darkly. "She'll be absolutely, insufferably revolting if she's been made Head Girl."

Ginny had also received her O.W.L. scores. Hermione practically snatched the parchment out of her hand as she presented it. As with Harry's own results the year before, it gave the pass and fail grades, the student's name, and his or her scores:

* * *

**Ordinary Wizarding Level Results**

_**Pass Grades **__**Fail Grades  
**_ Outstanding (O) Poor (P)  
Exceeds Expectations (E) Dreadful (D)  
Acceptable (A) Troll (T)

_**Ginevra Molly Weasley has achieved:**_

Astronomy.................................. E  
Care of Magical Creatures.......... E  
Charms....................................... O  
Defense Against the Dark Arts.... O  
Divination.................................... A  
Herbology................................... E  
History of Magic.......................... A  
Potions....................................... E  
Transfiguration........................... E

* * *

"Very good scores," Hermione said with a smile, handing them back to Ginny. Harry suspected she was being diplomatic; Hermione had taken O.W.L.s in every subject except Divination and Muggle Studies and had scored O's in every subject except Defense Against the Dark Arts, in which she'd gotten an E.

"Mum was happy with them, at least," Ginny said with a shrug. "But I think I should have had an 'E' in History of Magic."

"For what?" Ron sniggered, "staying awake?"

"At least I passed it," Ginny shot back. Harry said nothing; like Ron, he hadn't passed History of Magic either.

The booklist for seventh years was minimal, with only _The Standard Book of Spells Grade 7_ by Miranda Goshawk and _Advanced Transfiguration_ being required for all of them; Hermione had a few other books on Advanced Ancient Runes and Arithmancy.

"Too bad these didn't arrive a day earlier," Ron mused. "We just got back from Diagon Alley and now we'll be heading there again." Now, with all three of them able to Apparate if they desired, traveling would no longer be the big affair it had once been. Unless Ginny wanted to go along as well, especially to Diagon Alley for her school supplies. The group resolved to make the trip the following morning, so there would be more time to look around.

Many things had changed in the few weeks since Voldemort had been "defeated." The overall celebration had largely died down, replaced with a new sense of freedom, especially after several Death Eaters, now remorseful after their leader's disappearance, had turned themselves in to the Ministry of Magic. They had been dealt with, although only two, Flanders and Smithers, had received sentences at Azkaban.

As a consequence, many of the freedoms the Wizarding world had enjoyed in the years after Voldemort's first disappearance, freedoms which had been cut back as he rose again, were now reappearing. The Floo Network, much of which had been disconnected in the last few years, was being reconnected again, with the addition of a "floo valve," a simple spell that disconnected the fireplace from the Floo Network. Mr. Weasley, Mrs. Weasley had mentioned, had had the Burrow's fireplace reconnected to the Floo Network with a Ministry-approved floo valve in place. Getting to Diagon Alley would be no problem as long as Fred and George's store remained open.

The only opposition to their trip came from Mrs. Weasley, and her reasons were more pragmatic. "I don't know why it's going to take the lot of you running around Diagon Alley when I could take care of it for everyone myself."

"It's not just for picking up school supplies, you know," Ginny replied reasonably. "There's window-shopping and cafés and visiting Fred and George's shop –"

"Now that's a lovely idea just before you go back to Hogwarts," Mrs. Weasley snapped. "You don't need to be bringing any of their stuff back to school for pranks and such!"

"_Mum_!" Ginny said, outraged. "When have I _ever_ done that?!"

"Yeah," Ron muttered to Harry. "Her hexes are bad enough as it is."

"I heard that!" Ginny and Mrs. Weasley both said at the same time.

Eventually it was all worked out: Ginny and Mrs. Weasley would go via Floo Network to Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes, and Harry, Ron and Hermione would Apparate there so Harry could stop by his vault at Gringotts and Hermione could exchange the Muggle money her parents had given her for gold. Fortunately, according to Bill, the long waits and rather intrusive security searches performed by the goblins had been removed after the events of July 31st.

Not wanting to Apparate directly in front of the Leaky Cauldron, the three chose a small side street a block away to arrive in. Harry and Hermione arrived mostly okay; the distance made the sensation of Apparating a bit more acute, and Harry felt a bit woozy for a second or two after arrival. Then he turned to Ron and laughed in spite of himself: both of Ron's eyebrows were missing. "Whoa," Ron said, staggering a bit. "I feel a bit funny."

"You _look_ a bit funny," Harry said, grinning. Shaking her head, Hermione produced her wand and regrew Ron's eyebrows in a second.

They walked the block over to the Cauldron and waved to Tom the barman as they passed through the pub. A few people looked up, and one, whom Harry recognized as Madam Marsh, waved, but it was very different from the first time he'd come into the Leaky Cauldron with Hagrid what, six years before?

Then he had been a hero, famous and cheered by everyone he met. Now he barely rated a second look. Wondering why he should feel bad about losing a notoriety he never wanted, he, Ron and Hermione passed into the courtyard in the back and tapped the third up and second brick across three times with Hermione's wand to open the archway into Diagon Alley.

Diagon Alley had changed extensively as well in the past few weeks. Now, rather than small groups of people hurrying anxiously along the mostly-empty street between shops, the Alley was full of eager, enthusiastic crowds of witches and wizards laughing and talking as they ambled along, looking in windows and at wares outside the stores, much like the first time Harry had seen it with Hagrid, six years before.

"What's first, then?" Ron asked, looking around at the crowds of witches and wizards passing around them.

"Gringotts," Hermione said. "I need to change my pounds into Galleons. Then –"

"Flourish & Blotts," Ron finished.

"No, I thought we'd go to Fred and George's and get Ginny," Hermione corrected him. "She came along to go shopping too, you know."

Gringotts didn't take very long. Ron waited just inside the silver doors while Harry and Hermione each found someone to help them. It took only a few minutes to convert Hermione's Muggle money to Wizarding Galleons, Sickles and Knuts, but Harry had to travel down to his vault, number 687, to get some gold.

The ride down seemed to take longer than Harry remembered from before. There were also some strange twists and turns in their route that made him think they were detouring around something. "Why so long to get there?" he shouted to the goblin taking him down to the vault over the cold wind rushing past them.

"Shaft 13 is closed today!" the goblin shouted back. "Big transfer going on there." He didn't elaborate on what was being transferred, and suddenly they pulled to a halt in front of Harry's vault.

The goblin took Harry's key and unlocked the door, and Harry scooped some Galleons and Knuts into a bag he'd brought with him. He looked over the gold still in his vault; he hadn't made much of a dent in the amount left in here; in fact it seemed like a lot more than the last time he'd been here, puzzling Harry until he realized that the gold from Sirius's vault must've been transferred into his.

He returned to the cart and it hurtled back the way they came. As they neared one of the cross-shafts Harry could see several large chains running down it into the darkness below. He hoped they would pass close enough for him to catch a glimpse down the shaft but the cart suddenly veered away rather than onto a track that ended suddenly at the edge of the shaft. Their course slowly inclined upward until they reached the small stone station. The goblin held the door open for Harry, who nodded in thanks and rejoined Hermione and Ron at the bank entrance.

"Did you hear all that clanking noise?" Ron asked as they walked out of Gringotts.

"Couldn't hear much of anything over that cart," Harry said, wiggling a finger in one ear.

"It sounded like heavy chains," Hermione added.

"Yeah, they're transferring something up one of the shafts, the goblin told me," Harry said. "But I didn't see what it was."

"Maybe we could wait around and see," Ron said hopefully. "They might be bringing up a lot of gold or something."

But neither Harry nor Hermione were inclined to stay; Hermione insisted on getting to Fred and George's as soon as possible and Harry, who'd just seen a massive pile of gold in his own vault, didn't want Ron in a self-pitying mood over his lack of money. Ron acted annoyed but shrugged as they left, heading toward the Weasleys' shop.

Fred, helping a couple of pretty sixth-year schoolgirls as they entered, gave them a cheery wave. Ron stared a moment, then whispered to Harry, "Do we know them?"

"They're Hufflepuff," Hermione said curtly, not looking back at him as they walked toward the back. "Don't you notice _anything_ about people while you're at school, Ron?"

"Yes," replied Ron, but didn't elaborate – which seemed to annoy Hermione even more.

In the back, Ginny and Mrs. Weasley were having cups of tea in the office. "I was beginning to think you'd forgotten us," Ginny said as they entered the room.

"Gringotts still takes a while if you have to go down to your vault," Harry said. "Where's George?"

"He's making a delivery," Mrs. Weasley said. "A novelty shop in Edinburgh owled them for a supply of their joke candy." She shook her head. "I still can't imagine what anyone sees in some of that stuff…"

"At least more people are finding reason now to enjoy it," Ginny pointed out. "A month ago Fred and George were having trouble selling any."

"A lot of things were different a month ago," Mrs. Weasley agreed. "But I don't know how much better things are now than they were before. Most people don't realize that, even if Lord V-Voldemort has been defeated again, he may still return."

"Well, for most people, perception is reality," Hermione said. "I doubt if that'll ever change."

Ginny and Mrs. Weasley finished their tea and the group prepared to go shopping. The first stop was to be the book dealer Flourish & Blotts, since everyone had books to pick up. After that, Mrs. Weasley and Ginny would pick up the other items Ginny needed while Harry, Hermione and Ron wandered around Diagon Alley. That idea didn't exactly please Mrs. Weasley but she did nothing more than maintain a tight-lipped, disapproving silence.

Flourish & Blotts, the primary bookstore in Diagon Alley, was usually at its busiest in the weeks preceding the start of term at Hogwarts on September 1. Today was no exception; the store was teeming with people, parents buying books for children and groups of teenagers like them who were enjoying their new freedom to get out and about in the Wizarding world. The textbook section was especially crowded as Hogwarts students picked up new books.

They wound their way carefully through the throngs of people keeping their eyes ready for the titles they needed. Harry spotted the Transfiguration book they needed and moved toward it. He picked one up and passed a copy each to Ron and Hermione. Taking one more copy for himself, he studied it for a moment. The book was unremarkable, as were most of the N.E.W.T.-level books they'd bought in the last year. He was about to begin looking for their next book when someone trod on his foot.

"Ouch!" Harry said. "Watch out!"

"Sorry about that," the young man who'd stepped on his foot said, stepping back. "Someone pushed me off balance."

"No problem," Harry said, looking at him; for a moment he thought Neville Longbottom had trod on him. He had the same look about him as Neville: a bit stocky with straight brown hair, though the resemblance ended there. He was a bit shorter than Harry and wore glasses as well, although his were oval instead of round, and wire frames instead of black ones. He wasn't anyone Harry recognized from school, and his accent was wrong as well. "Are you a Hogwarts student?"

The young man had hazel eyes, similar to but not quite as vivid a shade of green as Harry's. Smiling, he said, "No, but I will be – this will be my first time there."

"You're not a first-year though," Harry said. The young man looked every bit as old as Harry.

"Oh no, I've been going to magic school in America for the past six years." He held out a hand. "I'm Jonathan Crown, from the United States of America."

"I'm Harry Potter." They shook hands. Crown didn't react at the mention of his name; Harry wondered if, as an American living out of Britain, Crown had even heard of him. Ron and Hermione had come back to see who he was talking to, and Harry introduced them. "These are my friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. They both go to Hogwarts as well."

Jon shook their hands. "Pleased to meet both of you," he said pleasantly.

"Where are you from in America?" Hermione asked.

"Texas," Jon said. "I've been attending the Merlin School of Advanced Witchcraft and Wizardry in Salem, Massachusetts, though."

"How did you come to attend Hogwarts, then?" Ron asked, curious.

"Our school participates in an exchange program with other schools in England and Europe," Jon replied. "I signed up for Hogwarts last year, even though it looked like there wouldn't be an exchange because of some problems you've been having over here. Fortunately, all that cleared up a few weeks ago and the Headmistress at Hogwarts contacted me about attending."

"That's very interesting," Hermione said, bemused. "It's the first I've heard of that program, though."

"I'm glad for the opportunity," Jon said eagerly. "Hogwarts has a great reputation in the States, but I don't think there's been a student exchange in the last 30 or 40 years."

"We'd better get the rest of our books," Ron said, a little insistently.

"Okay," Jon nodded. "I hope I'll see you at Hogwarts, then." He waved, picked up a copy of the Transfiguration book and moved away.

"Funny bloke," Ron said after Jon had gone. "He sort of reminded me of Neville."

"Me too," Harry said. "I thought he _was_ Neville, when he stepped on my foot." Ron chuckled.

"I thought he was nice," Hermione said. "I like his accent."

They found the rest of their books and got in queue to pay, with Harry in front of Ron and Hermione. Harry saw, as they chatted in line, that Jon had gotten into the adjacent queue a bit further back.

As it happened, however, the other queue moved a bit faster than theirs did, so Jon was having his books rung up just as Harry was paying for his. He finished paying and stepped aside to let Ron go next when the clerk helping Jon said, "What's this? I can't accept these!"

Harry turned to look. The clerk was holding several gold coins that weren't Galleons. "Sorry," Jon was saying. "I forgot to get them exchanged. Can't you take them to the bank and have them changed for British money later?"

"We don't do that," the clerk said, annoyed. "You'll have to get them exchanged yourself."

"Well, can you hold my books until I come back so I can pay for them?" Jon asked.

"I suppose we can…"

"Excuse me," Harry said to Jon. "I have enough money to pay for your books. You can pay me back later at school, if you like."

Jon looked relieved. "I would appreciate that, thank you! But I need to find the bank anyway and set up an account, so if I can find you afterwards I'll pay you back then."

Harry was counting out Galleons for the clerk. Ron and Hermione were watching from the queue next to them; Hermione was beaming but Ron's expression was unreadable. "I can take you over to the bank, if you'd like," Harry offered.

"Well, that's very generous of you," Jon said, trying to demur. "But I don't want to be a bother."

"Well, you already _are_ a bother," Harry said grinning. "So I don't think it matters how much more of one you are."

Jon looked at him a second, then laughed. "I guess that's true! In that case, I accept."

Jon gathered his books off the counter and Harry turned back to Ron and Hermione. "I'll meet you out in front when I get back."

"Okay!" Hermione said, smiling. Ron merely nodded.

Harry and Jon walked out of Flourish & Blotts and Harry pointed the way to Gringotts. "I didn't want to take you away from your friends," Jon said apologetically.

"No problem," Harry said. "I'm kind of curious, too – I've never set up an account at Gringotts and I'd like to see how it's done." He looked at Jon. "Er – it's probably rude to ask, but how much gold do you have to put in?"

Jon shrugged. "I just have a bank draft from the First Wizarding Bank of Dallas, Texas. My uncles thought I should set up a bank account while I'm in England, in case I need money, so I won't have to send to them for any." He pulled out a full-looking pouch that clinked when he shook it. "I have a few hundred dollars in gold, but I forgot that you use different money here. It's pretty different from ours."

"Yeah, I remember how strange it was when I first heard of it," Harry agreed. "Twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle, 17 Sickles to a Galleon."

"Right," Jon said, smiling. "In the U.S. it's just 100 cents to the dollar, for wizard or Muggle. The only difference is, wizards use gold while the Muggles use –"

"Paper bills," Harry nodded. "I lived with my Muggle uncle and aunt for ten years before I started at Hogwarts, and they didn't like anything to do with magic, so I know quite a bit about it."

They walked into Gringotts, the goblin doorman bowing them in. Jon looked a bit apprehensively at the goblin, amusing Harry, but he otherwise took things in stride.

Once inside, they both looked about the hall, wondering where one might go to open an account. Jon finally settled on a goblin sitting at a desk under a sign that read **Information**. He stepped up to the desk, but the goblin appeared not to notice him. As Jon started to say something, the goblin said, "State your business."

"I would like to open an account," Jon said. The goblin looked up at him.

"You wish to rent a vault?"

"Uh, yes," Jon said, looking at Harry, who just shrugged.

"How much gold do you plan to store?"

Jon pulled out his wallet and handed over a slip of paper. The goblin looked at it; one of its eyebrows went up. "A considerable sum," it said, looking back at Jon. "We offer free vault rental for amounts such as this. There is, however, a 10% fee if you close out the account within 10 years."

"Not a problem," Jon said. "I plan on keeping it for some time."

"Very good," the goblin said. "Do you require any special security such as a keyless vault or guarded access?"

"What's 'guarded access' mean?" Harry asked.

"Dragon," the goblin said. Jon raised his eyebrows at Harry, then turned back at the goblin.

"I think a normal vault will be sufficient," Jon decided. "Is that what you use?" he asked, turning to Harry. Harry nodded.

"Very good," the goblin said again. He reached into a drawer and removed a large leather ledger. Flipping through the pages, he found an open entry. "It looks like vault 257 is available. That should be adequate for your current needs. Is there anything else I can do for you before we get your key?"

Jon pulled out his bag of money. "I have some American money I'd like converted to British."

The goblin took the bag and emptied the contents on the counter in front of him. He waved a gnarled hand over them and the coins rearranged themselves into separate stacks. "At the current rate of exchange for today, let's see…" the goblin replaced the American money with stacks of Wizarding coins. "It works out to 124 Galleons, 5 Sickles and 22 Knuts." Jon counted out the money he owed Harry, handed it to him, and poured the rest back into his bag.

"Step to the end of the counter for your key," the goblin directed them, then dropped out of sight. Jon and Harry walked the considerable length of the counter to where another goblin was seated in front of a large wall covered in tiny bronze doors. The goblin who had been helping them reappeared and handed the second goblin a small strip of parchment. The second goblin looked at the parchment, nodded, then disappeared with a loud _crack_. Both Harry and Jon stepped back, startled. Harry hadn't known goblins could Apparate.

The goblin had reappeared on a rolling ladder in front of the wall. The ladder seemed to move of its own accord as the goblin examined various little doors. Finally finding the one he wanted, the goblin ran his long fingers across the door and tapped it in an odd pattern. The door popped open and the goblin pulled out a small gold key. He looked back at Jon. "Will you need only the one key?" he asked.

"Yes," Jon said, "I suppose." The goblin closed the little door and Disapparated again, reappearing in front of them behind the counter.

"Here's the key to your vault," the goblin said, handing it to Jon, who took it gingerly. "You, or any person acting on your behalf, must always present that key to be allowed access to your vault. No key, no vault. Is that clear?"

"Y-yes," Jon said. He looked curiously at the key in his hand.

The goblin produced a large ledger (_There was certainly no shortage of ledgers at Gringotts_! Harry thought), opened it and spun it around to face Jon, pointing to the last line with a long, knobby finger. "Sign there for receipt of your key." Jon took a nearby quill and signed the ledger; the goblin's hand moved over the page and suddenly held another scrap of parchment which he gave to the first goblin, who had been waiting. The first goblin went back to his own chair.

"That's it," the second goblin said. "Bank hours are posted on the front door." He looked at Jon and Harry with beady eyes, reminding Harry, inexplicably, of Uncle Vernon. "Have a nice day."

They turned to leave, but just then a large clanking sound caught their attention, coming from a large corridor to their left. It was similar to the chains that Harry had heard earlier, while going to and from his vault, but it seemed louder now in the relative quiet of the bank's hallways. It grew louder still, growing in intensity until Jon and Harry were forced to cover their ears.

"What is it?!" Jon finally yelled to Harry.

"Don't know!" Harry shouted back. "They told me they were moving something when I was here earlier!"

At that moment there was a loud BOOM and the clanking stopped suddenly, leaving a deafening silence behind. Harry and Jon removed their hands slowly from their ears.

"Whatever they were moving," Jon said quietly, in a tone of awe. "It certainly was _big_."

Even the goblin who had just finished helping them appeared interested. He had jumped onto the countertop and was peering down the corridor. "Sounds as though they've finally gotten it up to the main level," he said, almost to himself. Looking at Harry and Jon, the goblin grinned again in a most alarming leer.

"Would you like to be the first to see what we found in one of the most secure areas of the bank?" Jon and Harry both nodded.

"Come along, then." Leaping down from the counter, the goblin led them down the length of the corridor, so far that the main lobby had all but disappeared from view, when they came upon Shaft 13 and what now rested upon the edge of it.

"What is that?" Harry said in wonderment. Before him and Jon was a large metal box, approximately 10 feet on each side, with very ornate engraving and figures cut or cast into its sides and edges. In the side facing them was a large door, almost as big as the side itself, with two large hinges along the left edge and a relatively small handle on the right. Next to the handle was a fairly large knob that looked like the dial for a combination lock, marked along its edges with numbers from 0 to 15.

But the center of the door had caught both Harry and Jon's attention. There was a square area divided into a four-by-four grid of smaller tiles, each tile perhaps 18 inches square. Fifteen tiles were set into the four-by-four grid, with one spot left open; it looked like adjacent tiles could be slid into the open spot if one were moved.

On the tiles were strange markings. They reminded Harry of some ancient runes he'd seen Hermione working on at one time, although he knew nothing at all about ancient runes.

"We don't know what it is," the goblin who'd brought them along said, as if he thought Harry had asked him the question directly. "Other than obviously being a vault of some kind. There's no record of it being placed in the security section; I've looked very carefully, and found nothing. It's a mystery."

"What are you going to do with it?" Jon asked.

The goblin folded his arms across his chest and shrugged. "That's up to the Chief Goblin to decide; it's not goblin-made so he'll probably put a few wizard Cursebreakers on it – we have some of the best in the world, Bill Weasley for one; if he can't open it, Bargrivyek knows who can."

"GRIDHAND!" A basso voice roared nearby. The goblin, Harry and Jon all jumped. A large (compared to the one they were with) goblin was striding angrily toward them. "_What are those humans doing in here_?!"

The goblin with them backed away from the angry newcomer. "Your pardon, Boss – I thought it would be alright for them to see the discovery."

"Are we paying you to think, now?" the boss goblin sneered. "Get them back to the lobby!"

"Yes, Boss," their guide bowed obsequiously then turned and began hustling them back the way they came, ignoring Harry's questions about who the boss goblin was or why he didn't want them to see the vault. Before they knew it, the goblin had them walking out the silver doors of the lobby and through the outer door beyond into Diagon Alley itself.

Standing outside the bank, looking back, Harry said, "That was very strange. I always thought goblins were more organized than that."

"Why d'you say that?" Jon asked.

"Well they're usually all in the know of their bank policies, but the goblin who took us to see that artifact didn't seem to know we shouldn't see it."

"Well, if they're normally that organized," Jon pointed out. "Then maybe we were allowed to see it for a reason."

"You mean," Harry suggested, "They _want_ us to talk about what we've seen? To start rumors?"

Jon shrugged. "I'm just guessing."

"Oi! Harry!" someone called from the crowd, moving toward them. It was Ginny, waving at them, and Mrs. Weasley, both carrying sacks of school supplies.

"Who are they?" Jon asked.

"One's my – well, my friend, Ginny," Harry said. "She's Ron's sister. And the woman with her is their mother, Molly Weasley."

"Oh, any relation to the Bill Weasley that goblin mentioned?"

"She's his mum, too."

They stopped in front of Harry and Jon. "We got the rest of my stuff," Ginny said, hefting the bags she was carrying.

"Thank goodness it was a short list," Mrs. Weasley said, then turned to Jon. "And who might you be, dear?"

"Jon Crown, ma'am," Jon said with a small nod of his head. "I'm here from the United States to attend Hogwarts this year."

"Really?" Both Ginny and Mrs. Weasley said this at the same time. Mrs. Weasley added, "You have such a charming accent, Jon. Where are you from?"

"Texas, ma'am."

"My, how interesting! And to think you're all the way over her in England just to attend Hogwarts for a year," Mrs. Weasley said brightly.

"I'm looking forward to it," Jon smiled. "I've heard a lot of good things about it."

"Like what?" Ginny asked. She looked serious but Harry could see a twinkle in her eye.

"Well," Jon thought for a moment. "Good teachers, a very good library, and – it's in a magical castle!"

"Right so far," Ginny said. "I'm Ginny Weasley, by the way –" she shifted the bag she was holding and they shook hands "– and this is my mum."

"So what're the bad things you've heard about Hogwarts?" Ginny asked Jon. Both Mrs. Weasley and Harry listened, interested to hear his response.

"Well… " Jon looked a little uncomfortable saying anything, but plunged on. "There's been some trouble keeping certain teaching positions open –"

"Yeah, Defense Against the Dark Arts," put in Harry.

"— and there were some mishaps with students being severely hurt last year," Jon said, looking upward as if recalling information from another source. "I remember reading one died a few years ago during the Tri-Wizard Tournament."

Ginny and Harry glanced at each other.

"And I've heard," Jon continued, "that _some_ of the teachers there, not all of them, but _some_, tend to use teaching methods that are somewhat … _draconian_ in outlook."

"Well," Ginny said almost conspiratorially, "Only the ones that can turn into dragons."

"_What_?" Jon said, looking nonplussed.

Ginny and Harry laughed; even Mrs. Weasley smiled. "I'm joking," Ginny said. "Though some of them can be real pains in the –"

"Ginevra!" Mrs. Weasley said sharply.

"— bum," Ginny finished, looking at her mother coolly.

"_There_ you are!" Hermione's voice came from a dozen yards away. She and Ron hurried up to them carrying their books from Flourish & Blotts. "We were wondering if you'd forgotten about us!"

"Never," Harry said. "We've just been trying to get back there."

"We stood out front for quite a while waiting for you, Harry," Ron said, sounding a bit peeved. He didn't look at Jon, standing right next to Harry.

"Anyway," Mrs. Weasley said, suddenly sounding brisk. "We'd better get back to Fred and George's. I've got some things to whip up lunch for everyone, assuming I can get their stove to work." She looked at Jon. "You're welcome to come with us, dear. I'm sure we have enough, and I'll bet you haven't tasted real English cookery yet."

"I haven't," Jon agreed. "But I still have some shopping and looking around to do before I eat."

"Where are you staying, here in London?" Hermione asked.

"At the inn that's at the entrance to this, erm, street," Jon replied.

"Ah, the Leaky Cauldron," Mrs. Weasley said, nodding. "Well, if you ever want some _real_ cooking, come down to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes –"she pointed down the alley "— at number 93, and tell my sons there – you'll know them on sight, they look just like this one –" she nodded at Ron "– and tell them I said to bring you round to the Burrow."

"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley," Jon said. "I'll see you all later." Waving, he moved off into the bustling crowds and disappeared.

They watched him go, then Ginny turned back to the group. "So that's an American," she said. "Interesting accent."

Ron rolled his eyes while Harry and Hermione chuckled. Mrs. Weasley, however, said, "Wasn't it, though! I wish Fred and George could've met him."

As it turned out, however, Fred and George had met Americans (although not Jon) before. "Oh yeah, they come in here all the time," Fred told his mother after they had returned to Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes. "We get lots of Wizarding tourists from the States looking for interesting items to bring back home. They're wild for the Tooting Toffees we make."

Later that evening, back at the Burrow, Harry pondered his situation once again. There was only had a few weeks left before school started, and no telling how much time they would have at school to work on extracurricular activities like finding Horcruxes.

They would have to, though, Harry knew. Even if Neville, somehow, had actually killed Voldemort, his Death Eaters now knew it was possible to bring him back, even if they didn't know how. Although, Harry knew, he couldn't even count on that much; it was possible that Wormtail had to know, since he was the person who'd helped Voldemort regain his whole body. If Wormtail had already done it once, he could do it again.

They also probably knew, through Wormtail, that Voldemort would want his blood to help revive him. That was something Harry would now fight with every fiber of his being, should Death Eaters try to capture him. Until then, they would try to find Voldemort's Horcruxes and destroy them one by one. Then finally, Voldemort himself.


	12. The Seventh Year

Chapter 12

**The Seventh Year**

The morning of September 1st found everyone both packed, and pensive. This would be their last ride to Hogwarts before graduation; Hermione found this both elating and sad, and was alternately cheerful and teary-eyed, which drove Ron to distraction. Harry himself felt nothing at all – or perhaps, more honestly, a quiet sensation hovering somewhere between anticipation and foreboding. Would all of the teachers have returned with the decision to reopen the school delayed so long? What had happened with Malfoy's trial? They had carefully scanned the _Daily Prophet_ every day since Harry attended the hearing, but the paper had given no indication that a trial had ever taken place, much less what had happened during it. And what had happened to Snape?

As with the year before, the Ministry of Magic had arranged for a car to take them to King's Cross Station, with a silent, unsmiling Auror driving them and two more waiting to unload them and get them onto Platform nine and three-quarters.

With their trunks had been stowed away on the train, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley faced Ginny, Ron, Hermione and Harry, all lined up together. "Goodbye, dear," Mrs. Weasley said, hugging her daughter tightly. "Have a wonderful time and we'll see you at Christmas." Ginny, her lip trembling and eyes inexplicably bright, hugged her back fiercely. "Things will be all right," her mother whispered in her ear. Mr. Weasley also hugged her. "Goodbye, Daddy," she said in his ear. "Try to get some rest."

Mrs. Weasley was beaming at Ron, who looked a bit downcast. "Sorry I didn't make Head Boy, Mum," he mumbled as she hugged him.

"Oh tosh, don't worry about it!" she laughed, holding him at arm's length. "Three years as prefect is just as good! Ah, my little Ronnie, finally ready to graduate. I'm so _proud_ of you!" And she hugged him again even more tightly, as he looked at Hermione and Harry, his face burning with embarrassment.

Mr. Weasley put a hand on Ron's shoulder as his mother moved away from him. "Well done, Ron," he said simply, a proud smile on his face.

Ron's face lit up as he smiled back. "Thanks, Dad," he said just as simply. He and Mr. Weasley hugged for a moment.

Mrs. Weasley was now smiling at Hermione. "I wish your mother and father could be here to see you off," she said and hugged Hermione tightly as well. "I know they'd be so proud of you!"

"Thank you!" Hermione said feelingly. "I know they'll be here in June when I come home. Thank _you_ for being here now, and for all your hospitality!"

"Very glad to have you," Mr. Weasley beamed, offering her his hand, which she took. "I know Ginny thinks of you almost like a sister."

"And I her," Hermione said, looking over at Ginny, who smiled back.

Mrs. Weasley had come at last to Harry. She was almost in tears, yet smiling radiant at him. "I'm glad you made it here," she told him softly. "I don't know what Ron and Hermione would have done this year without you."

"I don't either," Harry agreed. Knowing what they had planned, he was a bit uncomfortable about what he was saying to her, but the next moment Mrs. Weasley was hugging him tightly.

"Be safe this year, Harry dear," she whispered in his ear. "There'll be plenty of time for running around and making things right after you're out of school."

"Touching scene." At the drawling voice Mrs. Weasley, startled, let go of Harry and stepped back, a tear trickling down her cheek, which she quickly wiped away. Draco Malfoy was standing a dozen feet away, an amused smirk on his face. His mother Narcissa was beside him, staring at the group as if public displays of affection were high crimes.

Crabbe and Goyle, Malfoy's cronies, were also nearby, smiling nastily as they pushed their and Malfoy's trunks toward the train. "Thought you wouldn't be seeing me this year, perhaps?" Malfoy went on. "Well, did you?"

"What makes you think I've been thinking about you at all?" Harry said coldly.

"It seemed like you were making everything I did last year your business," Malfoy sneered as he walked after Crabbe and Goyle toward the front of the train. "Let's go, Mother," he said to Narcissa. They walked a few feet, then Malfoy suddenly turned around and said, "Oh, and better watch your step, this year, Potter, or you may get detention." He folded back the lapel of his robe. Hermione and Ron both gasped.

Pinned to his chest was the Head Boy badge, its bright silver _**H**_ gleaming in the midmorning sunlight. "See you at Hogwarts, Potter." Malfoy turned and was gone. Ron uttered a curse under his breath. His mother turned toward him sharply, but surprisingly, said nothing.

There wasn't anything to say after that. Mr. Weasley shook Harry's hand wordlessly, giving him a grim nod as they boarded the train. The whistle sounded and the train began to move. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley waved goodbye, and the train departed the platform for their last trip to Hogwarts.

Ron and Hermione went forward to the prefects' car while Harry and Ginny found an empty compartment. They hadn't spoken much in the last two weeks; Harry was frankly a little unsure how to proceed. The reason for him breaking up with her was supposedly gone now, but they both knew perfectly well thing were nowhere near being finished with Voldemort and the Death Eaters.

"You don't have any idea what to say to me, do you?" Ginny said suddenly. Harry looked up at her. It was almost uncanny. He'd been playing over things in his head, trying to decide how to start a conversation.

"I – well, I don't – er –" Harry stammered. "No, I don't," he finally finished lamely.

Ginny chuckled. "Well for one thing, stop trying to overanalyze what you should say to me. It's just us, you know?"

Harry smiled slowly. "Yes," he agreed. "It's just us. So," he said briskly, taking her words to heart. "What are we going to do about Quidditch this year?" They talked Quidditch for some time, and were discussing the World Cup results when someone came into view outside their compartment. It was Jonathan Crown, dragging a trunk behind him. Harry tapped on the compartment door's window, motioning for him to enter, and Jon accepted gratefully. He shook Harry's hand and Ginny's as well, remembering her from outside Gringotts Bank.

"I'm not used to lugging something like this around," he said, indicating the trunk. "I usually have several suitcases back in the States, but a trunk seemed to be in keeping with the custom, so I decided to try it."

"We got on just as the train started to leave," Harry said. "Did you get on before?"

"No," Jon said feelingly. "I found the passage to Platform nine and three-fourths and came through just as the train was starting to pull away. I barely got myself and this trunk on – I had to jump to make it! I've been looking for a compartment since then."

"They can't all be full," Ginny said with a frown.

"Well, they haven't been," Jon conceded with a shrug, but a lot of the seats were being 'held' for someone else, when I asked."

Ginny snorted. Jon laughed. "I thought so too, but I wasn't going to push it. Plus, there's some guy a few cars back named Neville who's entertaining a large group of people with some story about a wizard named Voldemort – wasn't he killed recently or something like that? What is it?" he added, as Ginny and Harry looked at each other, then back at him.

Harry sighed. "That's a _long_ story, believe me."

"Is it worth hearing?" Jon asked, interested.

So Harry told him the story of Voldemort's rise, decades before, and how people like his and Neville's parents had fought against him. Neville's parents ended up insane, his own ended up dead, but Voldemort was stopped for a time because he believed killing Harry would nullify a prophecy made that a child would be born that would have the power to destroy him.

A month ago, however, that prophecy was apparently broken when Voldemort and his followers attacked Neville and his grandmother at their home. His grandmother was killed but somehow, it seemed, Neville had managed to destroy Voldemort.

"You don't sound like you believe Neville killed Voldemort," Jon said, after Harry finished describing these events.

"I would like to believe he did," Harry said honestly. "The prophecy could apply to either of us, except –" Harry lifted the hair over his forehead, revealing the lightning scar. Jon looked at it with interest. "—Voldemort marked me, first with this scar, when he tried to kill me, then when he decided that I was the one the prophecy referred to, not Neville. Plus, there are reasons to believe that Voldemort is not completely dead."

Jon smile. "You mean he's only _mostly_ dead?"

"Yes." Harry was hesitant; he did not know Jon well enough to want to drop an inadvertent hint about Horcruxes in front of him. Ginny was giving him a warning look as well. "I don't want to say more than that, but there's reasons to think Voldemort did not actually die."

A knock on the compartment door startled them. The door slid open and Luna Lovegood leaned in, her protuberant eyes looking over each of them in turn. When she settled on Harry, she said, "Hello there, may I come in and sit with you for a while?"

"Sure, Luna, come on in." Luna, a Ravenclaw girl in Ginny's year, already dressed in her Hogwarts robe even though the lunch trolley hadn't even come round yet, walked in, perching herself solemnly on the seat next to Harry, across from Jon.

"I see you have a new friend," she said, looking at Jon, who was smiling benignly at her. "He looks nice."

"I hope I am nice," Jon said, extending his hand to her. "I'm Jonathan Crown, from the United States."

Luna shook hands with him. "Ah, that would explain your American accent, then," she said vaguely.

"Yes, it would," agreed Jon.

"What brings you to see us, Luna?" Ginny asked. "How's Neville doing?"

Luna looked out the compartment, then leaned forward and gestured for them all to come closer. Harry, Ginny and Jon all leaned forward as well, and Luna said in a stage whisper, "I think Neville's having a bit of trouble dealing with his newfound fame."

_Imagine that_, thought Harry, who'd been dealing with his own, mostly unwanted fame for the past six years. "What's up with him?" he asked aloud.

"His story about defeating Voldemort is becoming more and more unbelievable every time he tells it," Luna said worriedly.

"Don't you believe it?" Jon asked.

"Oh, I have to believe it," she told him. "I was there, after all. I just don't know how much of it _he_ believes anymore."

Jon looked perplexed at this statement, but Harry leaned in, intrigued. "What do you think he believes, Luna?"

"My father's writing an exposé on it for next month's _Quibbler_," Luna said, smiling dreamily. "I read it this morning before we left to catch the train. He explains how Professor Snape put an Imperius Curse on Neville to force him to attack You-Know-Who."

"But, I thought Voldemort attacked Neville at his grandmother's home," Jon protested.

"Yes, Professor Snape cursed him as well. With both Neville and You-Know-Who out of the way, he's now poised to become the new Dark Lord," Luna replied in a very sensible tone.

Before Jon could respond to this, Neville himself appeared at the door of their compartment. "Oh, there you are!" he said, opening the door. "Luna, I've been trying to talk to you ever since we've gotten on the train!"

She looked at him a bit forlornly. "You haven't been doing a very good job, then, because we haven't talked much."

"I know," Neville said. "I'm sorry! It's just that so many people want to hear the story –" He caught sight of Jon at that moment. "Oh, hello! I'm Neville Longbottom."

"Hello, Neville, I'm Jon Crown."

"You may have heard, I killed Lord V-Voldemort a month ago, just when I turned 17," Neville said, adding quietly but feelingly, "after he killed my gran."

"I have heard that, Neville. I'm sorry about your gran."

"Thanks," Neville mumbled. He turned back to Luna. "Do you want to go back to my compartment so we can talk? I don't want you to be upset with me."

"I'm not upset with you, Neville," Luna said complacently. "I just didn't want to be a bother while you were talking with all of your new friends."

"Will you come back?" Neville pleaded. "Please?"

"Of course." Luna stood, then turned back to Harry. "It was nice to see you again, Harry, and you, Ginny." She looked at Jon. "And it was nice to meet you, Jon. I like your accent." She turned to Neville and he stepped back to let her out.

Just then, however, another student appeared in front of the compartment. "Are you Neville Longbottom?" she asked, giving him an envelope when he nodded. Neville stood in the doorway opening the letter as the girl tried to step around him. His face lit up as he read the contents.

"Oh! I'm invited to the Slug Club!" he exclaimed. "Come on, Luna!" He ran off in the direction the girl had come from; Luna, after looking back at them momentarily, followed. The girl who had just given Neville the letter leaned into their compartment.

"Are you Jonathan Crown?" she asked Jon. He nodded and she handed him an envelope as well. "Ginny, this is for you," the girl handed her an envelope as well.

"Thanks, Heather," Ginny said as Heather smiled and left.

Jon was looking at his letter. "What's the 'Slug Club?' " he wanted to know.

"A waste of time, if you ask me," Ginny muttered disdainfully.

Harry offered more of an explanation. "One of the professors, Horace Slughorn, invites certain students to have lunch with him on the train to Hogwarts and during the school year. He tends to pick students who he thinks will go on to bigger and better things."

"Oh, I see," said Jon. He looked at the envelope with an expression somewhere between a frown and a grin. "So he can say, 'I knew them when' after they're famous?"

"Or infamous," Ginny added. "He knew Voldemort when he was a student here at Hogwarts."

"He knew my mother, too," Harry said.

"So what would he want with me?" Jon asked.

"Well, you're obviously going to go on from Hogwarts to be someone rich or famous, or both," Ginny said sardonically. "Unlike Harry, who's obviously off the list this year," she added, giving him a wide-eyed, innocent expression.

Harry managed a chuckle. "I s'pose I am," he said. "But I've already had my day with Slughorn."

"What do you mean?" Jon asked, curious again.

"Oh, nothing," Harry said, waved off the question. "You'd both better get going to see Slughorn. Tell me how it turns out."

"Will you be alright here alone?" Ginny asked. Harry looked at her for several moments, wondering if there were any of his own feelings for her showing through the veneer of friendship they'd covered things with.

"I'll be fine," he said gamely. "Everybody's probably listening to Neville's story at the Slug Club by now."

"Don't be a smart aleck," she said, her tone much like her mother's when she spoke sternly, but she covered it with a smile. Jon opened the compartment door for her and they stepped out and were gone.

Sighing, Harry wondered what to do next, with no one to talk to. Just as he'd decided to close his eyes and sleep, if he could, the compartment door opened again and Hermione and Ron stepped in.

"Pansy Parkinson's Head Girl," Ron said without waiting for Harry to ask. "She and Draco make such a _perfect_ couple," he said, imitating Parkinson's voice in a simpering falsetto. "Of prats, that is," he added viciously.

Hermione didn't say anything; she simply threw herself down on the seat beside Ron, looking perfectly miserable.

"What's been going on back here?" Ron inquired.

"Neville and Luna came by a while ago," Harry said. "I think they're a couple now, by the way."

"Really?" Ron said, sounding surprised, but Hermione looked at them both like they were thick.

"They've been a couple since just after the fight at the school," she said. "Don't you know _anything _about what's going on with her and Neville?"

"How do _you_ know, then?" Harry challenged her.

"Luna told Ginny and Ginny told me. It's pretty serious, Ginny said Luna told her they planned to get engaged at the end of Neville's seventh year. Well," Hermione added as an afterthought, "I don't know how recent events might've changed things, I haven't talked to Ginny or Luna about it in some time."

Harry and Ron looked at each other. "So, what about Malfoy and Parkinson?" Harry asked, looking for someone they could all enjoy abusing. Hermione and Ron complained for quite some time about the various outrages Malfoy and Parkinson had heaped on them after showing off their Head Boy and Girl badges to the other prefects.

Eventually the lunch trolley rolled past and they bought some pastries and other treats, with Harry getting extra in case Ginny or Jon returned. They did, eventually, but it was nearing time for them to change into school robes, which they did before everyone settled themselves to await the train's arrival in Hogsmeade.

"So how did the first meeting of the Slug Club go?" Harry asked Ginny after they were all seated.

"Too long," Ginny complained. He spent most of it getting Neville to tell his story over and over."

"Who else was there?" Ron asked. Perhaps so he could avoid them during the school year, Harry wondered.

"Malfoy was there, Pansy wasn't," Ginny counted off the list on her fingers. "Neville, of course, and Luna was there as well; Neville insisted and Slughorn allowed it. Zabini and Marcus Belby were back. Malfoy kept wondering aloud why you weren't there," she added, "but Slughorn just ignored the question. Jon, what did you think of Slughorn?"

"Well, he was nice enough, I suppose," Jon said. "He fed us well."

"Jon impressed him too," Ginny said with a twinkle in her eye, glancing Hermione's way as she spoke. "He's gotten straight A's in all his classes for the last three years at school."

Hermione's eyes widened but Ron looked unimpressed. "Straight A's? So what, I got seven O.W.L.s and most of them were E's."

"In America, Ron, A's are the equivalent of O's here," Hermione said softly.

Ron looked at her. "How d'you know that?" he asked.

"I read it in a book," she fired back. "You should try it sometime."

The train was beginning to slow. Everyone put their things away in preparation for leaving the train and for the carriage ride from Hogsmeade Station to the school. Hermione and Ron said goodbye so they could exit with the rest of the prefects and direct students to where they would need to go. Harry, Ginny and Jon joined the throng of students milling about outside the train. Harry heard Hagrid's familiar voice and turned toward the sound to see him walking nearby.

"Firs' years, follow me," Hagrid was directing new students to fall in line behind him; every year, as with Harry's first, he brought the first-years across the lake in a flotilla of boats. "Hiya, Harry!" he said as he passed, giving Harry a pat on the back that pushed him a few steps forward. "I'll see yer at the th' Feast!" Hagrid called over his shoulder, waving . "C'mon firs' years, let's get goin'!"

"What happens next?" Jon asked as Harry turned back to him and Ginny.

"Now we take a carriage ride," Ginny said merrily. She pointed to where the students over first-year were walking, out of the station where a hundred or so thestral-drawn carriages waited for them.

Thestrals were large, skeletal horse-like creatures with leathery wings and dragon-like heads. Harry had first been seen them when he arrived for his fifth year at Hogwarts. Neither Ron nor Hermione had been able to see them, however, making Harry worry whether he was hallucinating, until Luna Lovegood told him that she saw them, too. He wondered if Jon would be able to see them; meaning, of course, that he had seen someone die.

Ginny must have wondered too because as they approached the carriages she pointed them out and said, "So, what do you think?"

Jon looked at them, then at her and Harry. "I think they're carriages," he said with a grin.

"What about what's in front of them?" she asked.

"More carriages?" Jon said with a laugh.

Ginny laughed as well; an uncomfortable sensations ran down Harry's spine. What were she and Jon doing, _flirting_?

"No, I mean between the shafts," Ginny persisted.

"You mean those big things that look like horses with bat wings?"

"So you can see them, then?" Ginny asked.

"Yes," Jon said, a bit perplexed. "Can you?"

"Yes," Ginny nodded.

"You can?" Harry said to her, surprised. "Who'd you see die?"

Ginny gave Harry a little "don't you remember?" look. "That Death Eater, Gibbon, who was in the attack on the school. I saw him get hit by Rowle's Killing Curse."

Harry wanted to ask who Jon had seen die as well, but such a question seemed out of place for someone he barely knew. He pushed it out of his mind for now.

They got into a nearby empty carriage. After a few moments Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan approached; seeing Ginny, Dean hesitated but she said insistently, "Come on, you guys," and they climbed in, nodding at Harry and looking at Jon curiously. The carriage began moving down the road toward Hogwarts castle.

Along the way Harry introduced Seamus, Dean and Jon, who all shook hands. "Good to meet you," Dean said, nodding again.

"Jon's here from America, Dean," Ginny said at Dean's look of confusion at the unusual greeting.

"Excellent!" Dean said with a wide grin. "I've always wanted to meet a Yank! Uh, I hope that's not a bad term," he added quickly.

"Not at all," Jon shook his head. "Any more than 'Brit' is, I hope."

"Actually, I'm Irish," Seamus said, grinning as well. "But I expect you didn't mean anything by it."

They arrived at the front of the school along with the other carriages, disembarked and climbed the stone steps into the castle's entrance hall. Jon was looking around in awe at the torchlit walls, the high arching ceiling, and the marble staircase in front of them. "Wait 'til you see the Great Hall!" Dean told him excitedly.

Making their way to the Gryffindor table, they were greeted enthusiastically by the other students already seated there, including Ron and Hermione, who had saved spots for them. Almost as soon as they were seated, however, the doors of the Great Hall opened again and Professor McGonagall, now the Headmistress, entered, leading a line of first-years to the front of the Hall, where Professor Flitwick was placing a four-legged stool, on top of which was a very old, patched wizard's hat. As everyone in the hall stared at it, the hat suddenly began to sing:

_Oh, you may say I'm old and torn,  
__That I'm not a pretty sight.  
__But looks aren't brains, so wait and see,  
__How oft I end up right.  
__I wasn't made too fancy  
__Not for royalty or the ball,  
__But I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat  
__The top hat of them all!  
__I'll have a look inside your noggin  
__A gander, just to see  
__What kind of brains you've got up there,  
__And where you ought to be.  
__Perhaps you'll go in Gryffindor,  
__Where dwell those hearts so stout  
__Their bravery, nerve and chivalry  
__Make Gryffindors stand out.  
__You might reside in Hufflepuff,  
__Good people, loyal and just  
__Those hard-working folks in Hufflepuff  
__Will ever earn your trust.  
__The smart ones end in Ravenclaw,  
__Of sharp and ready mind  
__For those of wit and learning,  
__Will always find their kind.  
__Or perhaps the House of Slytherin  
__Is where you'll make your stay  
__The cunning who use all their skills  
__So things work out their way!  
__Now put me on! I'll top you off  
__Let's find where you belong  
__For I'm a Thinking Cap, I think,  
__And I am never wrong!_

As everyone applauded, Headmistress McGonagall stood and began unrolling a parchment scroll. "When I call your name," she told the first-years before her. "You will put on the Hat and sit on the stool. When the Hat has announced your House, you will go and sit at the appropriate table." And the Sorting began.

As the names were being called Harry scanned the Great Table. One person sitting there caused Harry to sit up and take notice. He nudged Ron and pointed out the newcomer. "Look who's sitting with the teachers next to McGonagall's chair!" he whispered.

Ron did a double take. "Whoa! What's _Tonks_ doing up there? D'you think she's a teacher now?"

"Dunno. Hermione!" Harry caught her attention as she was talking with Ginny. "Why is Tonks sitting up with the teachers?"

Hermione looked, her eyebrows shooting upward in surprise. "That's interesting! Mrs. Weasley never said a word about it."

Jon was looking up front as well. "Which one of them is Tonks?" he wanted to know.

"The one with the pink hair, mate," Ron said. "Bit hard to miss, isn't she?"

Tonks was wearing her hair pulled back in a bun, but it was a shocking shade of pink. Harry couldn't help but smile, wondering what the other teachers thought of her, if indeed she was to be a new teacher this year.

After the last of the sorted first-years took their place with the other members of their new House, McGonagall, instead of picking up the Hat and stool, stood in front of it and addressed them once more.

"This year, some of you may have heard, in honor of our board of governors deciding to keep Hogwarts open, and in light of certain recent events, I have allowed two exchange students to join the seventh-year class. I would now like those two students to come forward and be sorted into the House they will become a member of while they attend classes here. Will Jonathan Crown and Deirdre Recaunt come forward, please?"

Jon stood and walked up to the front of the class, Harry looked around to see who the other student joining him was. He saw her stand at the Ravenclaw table; she had been seated next to Luna Lovegood. Luna applauded as Deirdre walked toward the front. She was a tall, gangly girl with long straight brown hair and a face that could best be described as "cute," Although she wasn't beautiful by any means. Seeing her in profile, however, Harry was vaguely reminded of his Aunt Petunia. She and Jon stopped in front of McGonagall, both looking uncertain about what to do next.

"Mr. Crown, if you would go first, please," McGonagall handed him the Sorting Hat. Looking bemusedly at the Hat, Jon sat down on the stool and placed it on his own head. Harry and Ron exchanged a grin – it looked faintly ridiculous for a seventh-year to have to go through the sorting ritual.

The hat was motionless for some time, reminding Harry of how long his own sorting had seemed to take. The Hat had almost put Harry into Slytherin until he insisted he didn't want to go there. Finally the tear along its brim opened and it shouted out, "Gryffindor!" The Gryffindor table burst into applause and Jon, smiling and applauding with them, retook his seat near Harry.

"Good show!" Ginny said as he sat down. "I was just beginning to wonder where we were going to put you tonight!" Harry stared at her a long moment, but she did not look at him.

Everyone's eyes were now turned to the other new student, Deirdre Recaunt, as she slipped the Sorting Hat onto her own head. Within a few moments the hat roared "Ravenclaw!" and Deirdre rejoined Luna at the wildly clapping table as Professor Flitwick removed the stood and Hat.

Returning to the golden chair at the center of the Great Table, McGonagall studied the class silently for a moment, giving Harry a chance to really look at her for the first time since they had seen her a few weeks ago. She was beginning to look a bit gray, and her features were more tired than he'd ever seen them before. He wondered how much she'd had to work to get the school opened by September 1, undoubtedly the reason for her weary appearance.

"Before we begin the Feast, I would like to thank our board of governors for giving us the opportunity to continue teaching our craft to the students of Britain, and now the world." She began to applaud, which the other teachers and then the entire student body took up, until the Great Hall was filled with the thunderous sound of hands of all shapes and sizes clapping together.

As the applause died down McGonagall spread her arms wide. "And now, let the Feast begin!" She clapped her hands together one last time and on the tables, all the empty golden plates filled with food: roasted beef, fried and roasted chicken, and fillets of fish; potatoes mashed and boiled and chipped; corn, creamed and on the cob; peas and beans by the bowlful; there were platters of rolls and plates of bread of all types; bowls of gravy and hollandaise and marinara; vegetable trays and bowls of apples and oranges.

Ravenous at the sight, Harry and Ron and the rest of the Gryffindor table tucked into everything in sight, too busy eating to even talk at first. Eventually, as people were becoming sated, conversations began popping up throughout the Great Hall. The food disappeared, replaced by puddings and pastries of all types, which students quickly helped themselves to, to top off their meals. Soon the Great Hall was filled with sighs and groans of satiety as everyone pushed away from their plates and dishes.

There was a clinking of glass and everyone turned to the Great Table where Headmistress McGonagall had risen once again. "I hope everyone is getting their fill of the Feast," she said warmly. "I am glad to see everyone is enjoying themselves. We just have a few details to sort out before I dismiss you all to your rooms and some well-deserved rest and relaxation before your first day of classes tomorrow.

"First years, take notice that the forest on the school grounds is forbidden to all pupils. _All_ pupils," she repeated, staring at someone on the other side of the Hall, though Harry could not tell who it was. He exchanged a glance with Ron, who was looking as well; they were both surprised McGonagall hadn't been looking at them, as often as they'd ended up there over the past six years.

"Mr. Filch, our caretaker," McGonagall continued. "Has asked me to remind everyone that joke and gag items, especially those from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, are banned from the school."

"That's a lost cause considering how many Hogwarts students were in the shop before start of term," Ron muttered to Harry.

"Anyone wishing to play Quidditch for their House team should give their name to their Head of House as usual. First years will not be allowed to participate in Quidditch."

"That's right," came a drawling voice from across the Hall that Harry recognized as Draco Malfoy's. "No first years have been allowed to play since Harry Potter, six years ago."

"Mr. Malfoy, kindly do _not_ interrupt me while I am speaking," Professor McGonagall said sternly. "Five points from Slytherin for rudeness." There were mutterings and grumbling from the Slytherin table, which quickly subsided when McGonagall added archly, "Would you care to try for ten points?" When there was no response, she returned her gaze to the rest of the Great Hall.

"This year, as with every year, prefects – _all_ prefects," she emphasized, looking again at Malfoy. "Will direct first year students to their rooms and will furnish them with the password for their common rooms. Also, I would very much appreciate if the seventh year Gryffindor and Ravenclaw prefects will help get our exchange students settled into their dormitories. Agreed, Mr. Weasley?"

Ron, who had been picking at a fingernail, jumped and nodded as McGonagall fixed him with a hawklike gaze. "Miss Jones?" Megan Jones, who was the seventh year girl prefect for Ravenclaw, nodded as well.

"I would like seventh year students to remain in the Great Hall after the other students are excused," McGonagall said. "To discuss a policy that has been instituted this year by our board of governors."

McGonagall seemed to hesitate, but only for a moment, then continued briskly. "Finally, we have only one more item to discuss before you are all excused to your beds to rest in preparation for tomorrow's classes. I would like to introduce our teaching staff."

"Finally," Ron muttered to Harry. "I think Tonks must have gotten the Defense Against the Dark Arts class. It's the only thing that fits why she's here." Harry nodded silently, wondering if that was the reason for her presence here.

"Our teaching staff is largely the same as last year," McGonagall continued. I am pleased that all of them were able to return at such short notice, and I deeply appreciate the sacrifices they made to do so. Please give them a warm welcome back."

The Hall exploded into applause, most notably from the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables. The Hufflepuffs were cheering as well; the Slytherin table's welcome was lukewarm at best.

When the applause had died away, McGonagall turned to her left where Horace Slughorn, a short, wide, heavily mustachioed man, sat finishing off the last of a portion of gateau. "Professor Slughorn joins us for another year as Potions Master." There was a smattering of applause as Slughorn waved an airy hand.

Turning back to her right, McGonagall continued. "And taking over the subject of Transfiguration is our newest member, Professor Nymphadora Tonks."

The Hall burst into applause once again. Harry whistled loudly; Tonks caught his eye and grinned as she waved amiably at the rest of the students applauding her.

"And now my final introduction." Suddenly McGonagall's voice seemed strained and uneasy; Harry felt an unsettling sensation growing in the pit of his stomach. If Tonks wasn't the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, who was?

"I'm pleased to announce the end of a long-standing problem we've had, one that's run on for a _very_ long time now. It has now come to an end." McGonagall's words were cheerful, but their meaning was anything but that to Harry, who now suspected something dreadful was about to occur.

"Back for his second year in a row as Defense Against the Dark Arts –"

It felt as though someone had grabbed his heart and squeezed, making its beating difficult and painful. _This can't be!_ his mind protested in horror.

"– Head of Slytherin House, Professor Severus Snape!"

_SNAPE_!

The Slytherin table surged to its feet, applauding and cheering wildly as Professor Snape appeared at the door behind the Great Table and approached to stand at the Slytherin end of the table, waving lazily to the cheering students before him. The other teachers at the Great Table were applauding, but none of them looked at all happy about seeing Snape again.

The rest of the school had come to its feet as well, but not to cheer for Snape. "He's a murderer!" shouted Dean Thomas.

"He shouldn't even be here!" several Ravenclaw students were shouting as well.

"Murderer!" Ginny was screaming. "Murderer! MURDERER!"

Hermione had covered her mouth, her eyes were wide with terror – not for fear of Snape, but at the look of murderous rage on Harry's face. His wand, somehow, was in his hand. He didn't remember drawing it. "No, Harry!" Hermione whispered desperately, as he continued to stare at Snape's sallow features, the sneer on his face Harry was sure was there just to torture him. He'd promised that if Snape ever crossed his path, it would be so much the better for Harry, so much the worse for Snape.

"SILENCE!" McGonagall had magically amplified her voice. It reverberated throughout the Hall and the shouts and cries died away. "Professor Snape is a teacher in good standing with the school. He has been cleared of all charges against him –"

"Yeah, by _Harry Potter_!" Malfoy's voice rang out again. The entire Hall gasped. Even McGonagall stepped back as if struck a physical blow, her wand slipping away from her throat.

"He gave testimony at Professor Snape's trial two weeks ago that cleared him of murdering Dumbledore! I was there and heard every word!" Draco shouted.

_That_ was who the hooded figure next to Umbridge must have been, Harry realized. The trial had been for _Snape_, not Malfoy! The Ministry had tricked him again. Harry looked at Snape; a hard, cruel smile had come across his pale, thin face, and he turned to look at Harry with victory once again flashing in his eyes. This was too much to bear. _Too much_!

Harry turned and ran headlong for the doors of the Great Hall. "Potter, stop!" he heard McGonagall call to him but he paid no heed. Throwing open one of the doors, Harry dashed into the entrance way and up the marble staircase, running blindly. He ran with no goal, no destination in mind except to put as much distance between himself and Snape as possible. He could not fight him here, in Hogwarts; neither could he run away from his friends.

As he bounded up a flight of stairs Harry realized that he had unwittingly come back to the place where all of this had started. He stepped through the door at the top of the stairs and found himself on the Astronomy Tower, the place where he had witnessed the last conversations of Dumbledore with Malfoy, the Death Eaters who had broken into the school, and Snape. He walked slowly, his body trembling, to the spot where he'd leaned, immobile, under his Invisibility Cloak as he listened to those last words.

Tired, despairing, dispirited, Harry slipped to the stone floor of the Tower, lying prone, his arms covering his head. _Why did you immobilize me_, he thought to himself, seeing Dumbledore in his mind's eye as he was that night on the Tower. _I could have helped you against Malfoy and the other Death Eaters. I could have stopped Snape from killing you!_

_No, you would have been killed, _another voice, in the back of his mind, answered. _You were barely able to catch Snape afterwards, even with help from members of the Order and Dumbledore's Army. And Snape might have harmed you, perhaps even killed you, if not for Buckbeak's timely intervention; as it was, he escaped anyway._

Harry was not having much luck arguing with himself. He lay with his cheek against the cool stone, wondering what he would do next, what he _could_ do next.

_Sleep_, the voice told him softly. _Things will work out for the better tomorrow. Sleep_.

Harry fell asleep.


	13. The Letter

Chapter 13

**The Letter**

When Harry woke up the next morning he found himself lying on top of his own bed, still in his robe from the previous evening. His glasses weren't on his face but he found them on the bedside table next to his bed. Underneath them was an envelope with his name on it.

Putting on his glasses, Harry looked around the room. It was early; Dean, Seamus, Neville and Ron were all still asleep. Harry took the envelope and walked down to the common room to open it. He found a window with enough light to read by, then slid a note out of the envelope. It read:

_Harry,  
__Please come to my office before your first class of the morning.  
The password is "Haversack."  
__Headmistress Minerva McGonagall_

Harry read the note again, then sighed and trudged back up the steps to get changed into different clothes; having slept in the ones he was wearing, he wanted to wash away the tiredness and the griminess he now felt wearing them.

Breakfast had begun by the time he made it down to the Great Hall, but just barely. He joined Hermione and Jon, who were discussing his class schedule over eggs, bacon and toast.

"Hi, Harry," Hermione said, looking worriedly at him. Harry mumbled a greeting in reply, sat down next to her, and began filling his own plate with food while they watched silently.

"How's it going this morning?" Jon finally said, to break the silence.

"Fine," Harry said, not feeling fine at all. "I have a meeting with McGonagall this morning," he added, almost under his breath.

"Well I'm not surprised at _that_," Hermione said, almost indignant. "She should have let you know what was going on before springing Snape on us like that."

"I didn't understand what happened yesterday," Jon said, before Harry could reply to Hermione. "Why was everyone was so upset when that last teacher came out. Why was Ginny calling him a _murderer_?"

"He killed the previous Headmaster of this school, Albus Dumbledore!" Harry said shortly. He was becoming annoyed with Jon's ignorance of their circumstances. "I was there, I saw it happen."

"But you cleared him at his trial, that blond kid said," Jon continued, looking perplexed. "Why would you do that and then be so upset about his turning up at school?"

"Because I didn't know I was giving testimony that was helping clear Snape!" Harry said loudly. Several heads turned toward them. "I thought the trial was for 'that blond kid,' Draco Malfoy. No wonder he was so smug when I saw him that day; it wasn't even him on trial!"

Harry stood. "I'm going to go see McGonagall," he said, leaving his plateful of food untouched. "Might as well get it out of the way now."

"Harry, look, I'm sorry –" Jon began, but Harry shook his head.

"Don't worry about it," he said. "Not your fault." He walked away before Jon could say anything else and stalked through the castle to the stone gargoyle that stood before the entrance to the Head's office. "Haversack," Harry said, in a sullen tone; the gargoyle leaped aside, revealing a spiral stone staircase that he ascended to the top, where a large, polished oak door loomed before him. Harry knocked and McGonagall's voice said "Enter."

Harry walked inside. The Head's office was largely unchanged since the last time he had seen it, several months ago. The Sword of Gryffindor was still in its glass case and the Sorting Hat rested securely on the same shelf where he'd last seen it. There were, however, some subtle changes: the spindly table filled with silver instruments was no longer present; neither was the cabinet where Dumbledore had kept his Pensieve. The curtains hanging over the windows seemed different as well, though Harry couldn't tell for sure. The table that stood in front of the Head's desk was different as well, more sedate, and held a silver tea set.

Headmistress McGonagall and Harry regarded each other silently. Harry, still sullen, wasn't inclined to start the conversation, and McGonagall held her peace as well.

Finally, "That was quite a display you gave us last night, Potter," she said coolly.

"It's not every day we welcome a murderer back into our midst, Professor," Harry retorted, his tone every bit as cool.

"There are extenuating circumstances."

"_Are_ there?" Harry said, advancing to stand directly across the desk from her. "Well, _I was there_, Professor, and from where I stood, it looked exactly like a Death Eater taking advantage of the best opportunity he would ever have to eliminate one of the best, the kindest, the most powerful good wizards the world has ever known. As far as he knew, it was just him, Professor Dumbledore, four Death Eaters and one frightened boy on that roof. Dumbledore would be dead and no one would know who did it, except them. And we'd _still_ be trusting Snape."

"As usual," an oily voice behind Harry sneered, "Potter thinks only his twisted imaginings have any merit."

Harry spun, his wand out and pointed directly at Severus Snape, who had appeared from behind a curtain. "Potter!" McGonagall cried. "Put that away!"

"Don't worry, Headmistress," Snape said, his dark eyes boring into Harry's with a hatred and loathing equal to Harry's own. "Even Potter must realize he cannot attack me here, of all places."

"You wish," Harry said in a low growl, barely able to contain his rage at being so close to Dumbledore's killer. Snape's wand was not out; it would be so easy to dispatch him, here and now, before McGonagall could stop him.

"Before you start throwing Unforgivable Curses, Potter," Snape said smoothly, "you should read the letter Headmistress McGonagall has, the one written for me by Professor Dumbledore."

"What would I care?" Harry sneered, but his wand dropped a fraction, and he stepped back so he could turn his head back toward McGonagall while still keeping Snape in view.

McGonagall picked up an envelope off her desk and opened it, pulling out a parchment letter then coming slowly around the desk to hand it to Harry. "Read it," she said simply.

Harry read:

_ To the August Members of the Wizengamot, the Wizarding community at large, and my dear friends,_

_ It has been my considerable pleasure and privilege to have worked with, these past fifteen years and more, Professor Severus Snape. I realize that many in the Wizarding community do not trust him, but it is with utmost confidence that I continue to rely upon his strength, his knowledge and skills, and his personal word to me, of his utmost loyalty and devotion to the causes of protecting the persons and property of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  
__I have recently had cause to believe that, as of the beginning of this second year since his return, and because of the recent defeat of himself and his Death Eaters at the Ministry of Magic, that Lord Voldemort will attempt to have me assassinated, and that he will, by means of threat and intimidation, force a Hogwarts student to make this attempt.  
__Who this student is, is not important. What is important is that Voldemort shall not be allowed to succeed in his attempt to undermine the integrity of this school, or its students. I have therefore authorized Severus Snape to use any and all means at his disposal to persuade any and all Death Eaters who may request aid from him toward this end to comply with their requests, even if such complicity may result in personal danger to me. I hereby Absolve Severus Snape of any and all blame if I am killed due to his actions to prevent Voldemort from corrupting or harming any Hogwarts student.  
__I make this declaration in full knowledge of its consequences, if any, and I cheerfully accept all responsibility for them._

_As ever, your servant,  
__Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore_

Harry stared at the letter for a long time, his wand hand slowly lowering itself to his side. "Why would he do such a thing?" he finally said, almost to himself.

"He held the safety of every student in higher regard than his own," McGonagall said softly.

Harry looked at Snape again. There was still hatred in those black eyes. Harry could see it, hatred that matched his own. "That doesn't explain why you killed him," he said angrily.

"I made an Unbreakable Vow with Malfoy's mother," Snape said, drawing himself up arrogantly and looking down on Harry. "I would do whatever needed to be done to fulfill his vow, if he couldn't. I was sure that Draco would fail but that Dumbledore would have a way to prevent me from killing him, hopefully without killing me in the process."

"Sounds good to me," Harry said acidly.

"I'm sure," Snape drawled disinterestedly. "However, when I found myself on the Astronomy Tower roof that evening, the situation was completely out of control – there had been casualties, and the Order was trying to hold back the Death Eaters, but they failed to prevent them from reaching the roof."

"How did they know Dumbledore would be on the roof?" Harry demanded suddenly.

Snape was silent a moment, then: "It was expected he would return to the spot closest to the Dark Mark which had been placed there by one of the Death Eaters."

"And you showed up on the roof just in time to find out that Draco couldn't go through with his assignment," Harry said bitterly. "How very convenient."

"What would you have had me do, Potter?!" Snape said hotly.

"_Die_," Harry replied immediately. "Die protecting the one man who never doubted you, who always defended you, who you promised your loyalty to. _You_ should have died!"

To his surprise, Snape dropped his eyes to the floor. "Perhaps you are right," he said softly. "I owed much to Albus Dumbledore. More, perhaps, than you will ever know. It cost me much to strike him down – even as I did it, I realized what an evil, loathsome thing I was doing. I was disgusted – at myself, for allowing it come to that, at Dumbledore for forcing my hand in front of the other Death Eaters – there was no other way to maintain their confidence, to stay true to my mission for him."

Harry snorted. "You expect me to believe that?"

"What _you_ believe is of no interest to me," Snape retorted coldly. "It is the Wizengamot that makes such judgments. And it has judged me innocent of Dumbledore's murder due to extenuating circumstances. Because of that, the Headmistress of Hogwarts has seen fit to reinstate my employment here. You would do well, Potter, to accept that fact – or move on yourself."

For a fleeting moment Harry wanted to do exactly that – to run from the room, from the school, from everything that had anything to do with Snape, or Horcruxes, or death.

What kept him from doing so were the very things that had brought him here in the first place – his friends. Hermione and Ron had stayed with him through a tumultuous summer, and had been ready to leave school with him, if need be, to help him stop Voldemort. And now, when confronted with his greatest challenge, and the greatest threat to the school he had ever known – Snape's presence within its walls – he could not walk away, any more than he could have walked away when Voldemort was active.

Harry turned to address McGonagall. "If Snape's staying, _I'm_ staying," he announced to her.

"_Professor_ Snape, Harry," McGonagall said, but there was a ghost of a smile behind her firmly set lips.

"Yes, ma'am," Harry said, with an equally ghostly smile.

"How charming," Snape said, looking as if he'd smelled something revolting. "If there's nothing else you need to say, Potter, the Headmistress and I –"

"Professor Snape, kindly do not dismiss my students from my office," McGonagall cut him off. "Mr. Potter and I still have a matter or two to discuss."

Snape, annoyed, looked as if he might say something but thought better of it, nodded a small bow, and stepped back into shadow.

McGonagall now turned back to Harry. "I had asked the seventh years to stay, you may remember, to discuss a matter of new policy concerning them. The board of governors, in recognition of Voldemort's 'death' –" Harry noticed the way she said the word, as if that were a matter of debate "– have decided to allow seventh-year students more liberty than in previous years.

"Seventh-years who are of age have been given permission to leave the school grounds on weekends. This is a day-pass only – students are expected to return each night before 6 p.m. Violations will lose House points or be given detentions, and expulsion is a possibility for repeated offenses. Do you understand, Mr. Potter?" McGonagall asked him.

"Yes, ma'am," Harry nodded slowly. "I understand."

"Any questions?" McGonagall asked him.

"Well," Harry mused, "it seems like a big change, even considering who's _supposed_ to be dead." He couldn't resist a quick look at Snape, whose expression remained unreadable.

"Trust Potter to look for more clouds to cover up the silver lining," the Potions master said derisively.

"Enough!" McGonagall snapped at him. "This feud between you two is becoming quite intolerable, especially when it impacts the daily routine of the school. I'll have it stopped, _now_, or know the reason why!" She rounded on Harry as well, when he started to open his mouth. "And you too, Potter! Is that clear to the both of you?"

Seeing the fire in McGonagall's eyes, Harry decided that discretion was the best option for now. "Yes, ma'am," he said again.

"Quite… clear," Snape said slowly, seemingly unperturbed.

"Fine," McGonagall waved Harry at the door. "Potter, off to your first class. Charms, if I remember correctly. Severus, if you'll remain, we'll have that meeting you've been requesting so insistently now, before your first class."

Harry walked to the door, silently fuming at being so summarily dismissed; he paused at the door, turning to look back at McGonagall, but it was the portrait behind her that caught his eye.

Professor Dumbledore, whose painting now dominated the wall behind the Headmistress' desk, was staring quite intently at him, his eyes locked onto Harry's. It was almost as if Dumbledore was trying to tell him something. Harry stared back, trying to understand.

McGonagall and Snape, who had turned to each other as Harry began to leave, both turned to look at the portrait as well, but by the time they had, Dumbledore's image appeared fast asleep. "Was there something else, Mr. Potter?" McGonagall asked, sounding impatient.

"No – no ma'am," Harry said, turning and exiting the office. _What had Dumbledore's portrait been trying to communicate to him?_ He made his way back to the Great Hall to retrieve his books, but a third-year Gryffindors told him that his friend Ron had taken his book bag to their first class. He arrived in the Charms classroom ahead of Flitwick to find Ron and Hermione bent over a copy of the _Daily Prophet_, reading the front page article avidly.

"So what happened?" Ron asked in a low voice.

"Tell you later," Harry said, because Malfoy seemed to have his ear cocked in their direction, and because Hermione seemed deeply absorbed in what she was reading in the _Prophet_. "What're you looking reading?"

"Gringotts found a large vault in one of its storage rooms a few weeks ago."

"I know," said Harry. "I was there when they were bringing it up to the main level."

"Huh?" Ron exclaimed. "You never mentioned it to us!"

Harry shrugged. "I didn't think anything about it at the time."

"Well, it says – oh, here comes Professor Flitwick." Hermione put the paper away as the diminutive Charms professor made his way to the front of the class.

"Welcome back, everyone," Flitwick said cheerfully in his high, squeaky voice. "I trust everyone had a pleasant summer."

Harry and Ron looked at each other and rolled their eyes. Behind Ron, Harry saw Malfoy smirking at him. He turned back quickly to look at Flitwick again.

"Seventh year," Flitwick continued, "is, of course, the year you sit for your N.E.W.T. examinations. The name is no exaggeration – they are indeed both nasty and exhausting. We'll begin learning spells that your examiners will expect you to know such as the Protean Charm and the Patronus Charm, although we may leave the practice of that one to the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

"Maybe you could have Potter show you, Professor," Malfoy spoke up. "He's supposed to be quite the Darks Arts instructor himself." Crabbe and Goyle both sniggered.

"That's as may be, Mr. Malfoy," Flitwick said mildly, but he did not appear happy at being interrupted. "Perhaps _you_ would care to demonstrate the Patronus Charm for us, yourself?"

Malfoy lost his smile momentarily, but recovered quickly. "We're not in Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Professor."

Jon Crown, sitting in the row ahead of Malfoy and next to Neville, turned his head in Malfoy's direction and coughed. It sounded remarkably like the word "Chicken!"

Malfoy's pale face reddened. "I suppose in America they teach the Patronus Charm on the first day of class," he sneered.

"Ah, Mr. Crown!" Flitwick turned his attention to the young American. "I've wanted to ask you about the level of education and training you receive in America compared to here in Britain."

"It's comparable, sir," Jon said. "I've been looking through the various texts here and I would say they are about even. The biggest difference is in testing. American schools tend to test at the end of each year rather than only testing at specific times such as for O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s."

"Really?" Flitwick said, surprised. "I hadn't realized that! Where would you say a spell such as the Patronus Charm falls within the American system?"

"It's not a particularly difficult spell," Jon said, looking over at Harry. "But it does take concentration and determination."

"Indeed," Flitwick said. "Would you care to demonstrate?"

In answer, Jon stood and took out his wand. "_Expecto Patronum_!" he shouted, pointing at the open space in front of Flitwick's desk. From the tip of his wand a brilliant, silver form lept into the air and landed in front of Flitwick, who said, "My word!" and stepped back, falling off of his desk.

The entire class stared in surprise. Jon's Patronus was a tiger; it seemed like a gleaming crystal statue brought to life as it paced back and forth in front of him, growling softly. Jon held out his hand and the Patronus moved toward him, letting him put his hand on its head. It began to purr loudly.

Harry watched, surprised; Jon's was the largest Patronus he'd ever seen, larger even than his own Patronus, a stag. He glanced at Hermione; she seemed fascinated at the sight of such a large Patronus.

Malfoy, however, insisted on appearing unimpressed. "Is that the best you can do?" he sneered at Jon. The Patronus suddenly growled at Malfoy and he jerked back, startled. Most of the class laughed or snickered, including, Harry noticed, the other Slytherins present.

"Quite impressive, Mr. Crown!" Professor Flitwick had regained his feet and was beaming at the Patronus. "However," he continued more sedately. "We do have a lesson to attend to." Jon's Patronus disappeared. "Very good. Now let's open your Standard Book of Spells, grade seven, to the section on Charms…"

By the end of class Flitwick had been as good as his word; they had a reading assignment and essay to write on the different levels of conjuration magic. Hermione hurried off to her Arithmancy class, which Jon was attending as well, but not before Ron had snagged her copy of the _Daily Prophet_. He and Harry had a free period and they headed back to the Gryffindor common room until lunch.

While Harry flipped idly through the Charms reading assignment, Ron poured over the _Daily Prophet_ article on the newly-discovered Gringotts vault. "What d'you think is inside this thing, Harry," Ron asked him.

"I dunno," Harry said distractedly. "Treasure, probably."

"That's what I think, too. Blimey, it's big! Ten feet on each side. I reckon it would be a tidy amount of gold if it were even half-full. I'd like to see what's inside it."

"Hey, Harry!"

Harry looked up to see Demelza Robins, a Chaser on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, walking toward him. "Hi, Demelza," he said, folding over a corner in the book he was reading and putting it down. "What's up?"

"Hi, Ron," Demelza added as she stopped in front of them, and Ron smiled and greeted her back. "I just wanted to see what you were thinking about Quidditch practices this fall. I just saw this year's schedule and we're up against Hufflepuff in late October."

Harry had barely thought much about Quidditch in the last few weeks, so many other things had been going on. "Er – d'you know if everyone on the team came back to school this year, other than Katie?" he asked her.

Demelza nodded brightly. "Yeah, lucky for us! I saw Ritchie this morning on the way to Transfigurations class and Jimmy afterwards, coming here. I saw Ginny at the Feast last night, and here you two are, of course, so that's the lot. Are you going to hold trials for a new Chaser to replace Katie?"

"Yeah," Harry said, wishing there was another way. But Katie herself had impressed on him the importance of trials rather than just letting your mates play; you might pass up a really good player that way.

"I'll put together tryouts for this weekend and we can discuss a schedule after that," Harry said. He tried to sound enthused but Quidditch had lost much of its appeal in the last few weeks.

"Great, Harry, I'll be there! See you!" With a wave Demelza left. Watching her leave, Harry wondered how he had ever felt as strongly about Quidditch as she apparently still did. He remembered Oliver Wood, his first Captain when he'd joined the team as a first year, the first student to do so in a hundred years. Wood ate, slept and dreamed Quidditch; he'd been obsessed with it, it seemed. As far as Harry knew, Wood was still with the Puddlemere United reserve team.

Ron, who'd been watching Harry watching Demelza leave, mistook his pensive mood for interest in her swaying hips. "D'you know that Demelza sort of likes you, Harry?" he said, fishing a bit.

Harry turned to him, surprised. "First I've heard of that. How do _you_ know that?"

"Ginny told me she thought so. Mind you, Demelza hasn't said anything to her about it," Ron added hastily.

Harry shrugged and opened his book again to where he'd left off before talking to Demelza.

"Wish I knew what was going on between Hermione and that Yank, Jon," Ron said dully, still fishing.

Harry shut the book again and looked at Ron in bewilderment. "What makes you think anything's 'going on' between them in the first place?" he wanted to know.

Ron launched into a whole list of reasons: "She's always watching him," he pointed out. "She keeps asking him questions about himself, like what's he study over there in America and what kind of classes he takes, what his grades are like, all sorts of things like that!" Ron was working himself into quite a state.

"Doesn't that just sound like she wants to know how different things are over there?" Harry suggested.

"Well, why would she care about that?" Ron said, incredulous.

"Here's a brainwave, Ron," Harry said in exasperation. "Hermione's a smart person. Smart people want to learn things. People learn things by asking about them. D'you follow?"

Ron looked at him for several moments. Then, "So… you think she's just interested in him, not _interested_ interested in him then, right?"

"Right in one," Harry said. The bell rang for lunch. "Let's go see how the lovebirds are doing, shall we?" Harry said with a grin.

"Oh, shut it."

They all arrived in the Great Hall about the same time, Hermione talking animatedly with Jon about Arithmancy. From what Harry gathered Jon was quite good at the subject as well. Ron gave Harry an "I-told-you-so" look as they sat down and began filling their plates with Salisbury steaks, potatoes and gravy and peas. Ginny joined them a few minutes later and sat next to Jon, opposite Harry.

Hermione suddenly held out her hand. "Ron, did you finish reading the paper?"

"Oh, yeah." Ron dug in his bag and handed to paper back to her. She folded it to better hold it while eating and busied herself finishing the article about the Gringotts Vault.

Jon, looking over her should at the picture, said to Harry, "That was the vault we saw in the Bank that day, isn't it?" Harry nodded.

"Oh, that was when Harry showed you where Gringotts was," Hermione turned to look at Jon, who nodded as well.

"I wish I had gone with you to see that," she said wistfully as she continued to read the _Prophet_ article. "It sounds very interesting."

"Why's that?" Jon asked.

"It's been giving them fits for the last week," Hermione replied. "I don't think they have a clue what it's about or what's inside it."

"Hold it," Ron objected. "The article didn't say all that. How do _you_ know they've been having problems with it?"

"You have to read the _entire_ _paper_, Ron," Hermione said, gently waving it at him. "For example, near the back is an article about the Chief Miser going on holiday this week. Well that's _daft_. He wouldn't be going anywhere with this Vault thing up in the air. I think something happened to him."

Ginny spoke up. "It did." Everyone turned to look at her. "Mum talked to Bill the other night. He told her that the Chief Goblin tried their finger-stroke unlocking technique on the Vault and it stuck all his fingers and toes together. He's been trying to get them unstuck for the last week. Of course," she added with a small grin. "I wasn't supposed to mention that to anyone…"

All too soon the bell rang for the end of lunch and everyone gathered up their book bags to head to their next classes. Harry was not looking forward to this one at all – it was a Double Defense Against the Dark Arts; with Snape teaching it again this year, he feared there would be very little of practical benefit they would learn.

Plus, he still loathed Snape, no matter what McGonagall thought.

At the entrance to the Great Hall, Harry paused to let Luna walk out in front of him. She smiled at him as she passed, as did the girl following her; Harry saw that it was the other exchange student, Deirdre Recaunt. Seeing her up close for the first time, Harry saw that she was very pretty, in an unusual way. Her brown hair was long and flowing, her eyes expressive and deep brown. Her nose was prominent but gave a stately beauty to her thin, long face. Her lips were thin but were nicely accented with gloss. She hurried after Luna.

"Those two are a likely pair," a voice behind Harry said. He turned to see Ginny. "Luna and Deirdre."

"What's the scoop on Deirdre?" Harry asked, knowing that Ginny had been busy with her network of friends finding out about the new students.

"Deirdre's rather quiet and shy," Ginny said, walking with Harry. "Right now all we know is, she's from a small village somewhere in this region, though she hasn't said exactly where yet. She seems to like Luna, although they don't have any classes together since Luna's a sixth-year and Deirdre's taking seventh-year classes."

They came to an intersection and Ginny stopped. "I've got to go this way for class," she said, pointing down the opposite direction from the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. "You nervous?" she asked suddenly.

"No," Harry said truthfully. "Just not happy about Snape being here."

"I know," she said quietly. "Remember, if you need to talk about anything…"

"You'll be the first to hear," Harry said.

"You're lying," Ginny smiled. "But it's nice of you to say that. See you later." She headed off down the opposite corridor.

Walking up to the classroom Harry saw a group of students clustered outside it. "The doors locked," Ron said to him as he joined him and Hermione. Harry glanced around. Off on their own, Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle were discussing Quidditch.

"I expect it'll be a very good year for us," Malfoy was saying, loud enough to be sure he was overheard by the rest of the students standing around there. "We're getting new brooms for the Slytherins this year – the Firestar," he added boastfully.

Harry groaned inwardly. The Firestar was the new, top-of-the-range racing broom that had come out earlier that year. Successor to the Firebolt, it would accelerate from zero to 170 mph in just nine seconds, outstripping all other brooms on the market.

Malfoy must have read Harry's expression because he added smugly, "I'm looking forward to seeing you on the pitch, Potter. We'll see who catches the Snitch first this time." _As if the speed of one's broom was the only thing that determined that_, Harry thought.

Just then the door to the classroom flew open and Snape's voice rang down the corridor. "Everyone into the room. Find a seat, no dawdling. You too, Potter," Snape said, stopping at the door so that Harry would have to go in before him. Harry did so, casting him a venomous glance at Snape as he sidled past him into the room.

"Very well," Snape said as he turned and faced the class at the front of the room. "We come to your final year here at Hogwarts, your final chance to learn something useful before going out to make something of yourselves in the world – if you can," he added, looking down his long nose at Ron, who couldn't help but swallow nervously under his gaze.

"We will be dealing with powerful magic this year," Snape continued. "I expect you have all been practicing your non-verbal spells this summer – No?" He looked around at various faces. "Pity. They will be an important component of your N.E.W.T. testing – yes, Mr. Malfoy?"

Malfoy's hand was up. "Sir," he said, his polite tone sounding very incongruous against the malicious smirk on his face. "Mr. Crown, our new American exchange student, gave an interesting demonstration of his Patronus this morning in Charms class. I wonder if he'd be able to show us any more interesting spells here."

Snape turned his dark eyes toward Jon, who was seated next to Hermione. "So," he said, looking Jon over carefully. "You are from America? Interesting. Do your studies there include Defense Against the Dark Arts?"

"No," Jon replied. "It's not given as a specific class. We learn techniques against Dark magic in all of our subjects."

"'No, _sir_,'" Snape corrected him. "Come to the front. I'd like to see a demonstration of your technique. Malfoy, up here as well."

Malfoy swaggered to the front of the class where he stood grinning as Snape positioned Jon with several feet separating them. "Let's start with a demonstration of your Shield Charm," Snape said, moving behind Malfoy. "Mr. Malfoy will attempt to use a Stunning Spell on you. You are familiar with the Shield Charm, are you not?" he asked, making the question sound insulting.

"Of course," Jon said. His wand was already out. He held it before him, tip pointing upward, while waiting for Malfoy's attack.

"Very well. Begin!" Malfoy's wand came up as soon as Snape had started saying the words.

"_Stupefy_!" he shouted – there was a loud BANG and a bolt of red light leaped from Malfoy's wand toward Jon. Jon's wand, however, came forward and with barely a flick the bolt was stopped without reaching him. Jon hadn't spoken, either, Harry noted – he'd performed the Shield Charm wordlessly.

Malfoy's face darkened. "_Stupefy_!" he shouted again, and again, hurling several more bolts at Jon, each of which was deflected by a flick of Jon's wand. Malfoy even attempted a Disarming Spell, shouting "_Expelliarmus_!" but to no avail; Jon's wand remained firmly in hand as each spell ricocheted off his Shield spell and into the walls or ceiling.

"Enough," Snape finally said, stepping in front of Malfoy who, frustrated at his inability to get through Jon's defenses, looked on the verge of casting an even more powerful spell. "Take your seat," he said coldly to Malfoy, who glared back at him but stalked back to his desk and threw himself behind it, waving off a whispered comment from Crabbe.

"An impressive display," Snape conceded. "Especially from a student that does not even have Defense Against the Dark Arts as a separate class."

"Thank you," Jon said, smiling. "Sir," he added.

Snape took out his own wand. "How is your offense? Do you think you could break through _my_ shield, for example?"

Jon shrugged. "I only know one way to find out," he said. "Sir."

"Very well," Snape said, readying his wand. "Attack me!"

The entire class was mesmerized by these events, Harry included. It seemed as if Snape was deliberately testing Jon's abilities. He found himself wanting to know what Jon was capable of as well, especially since the threat of Voldemort had not achieved wide recognition outside of Britain in the Wizarding world. Harry had no idea if there were Dark wizards in America who were equally as dangerous as Voldemort. He fervently hoped not, for everyone's sake.

He also wished Snape had given _him_ permission to attack rather than Jon.

Jon had squared off against the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, pausing only a moment before a red bolt shot from his wand toward Snape, who parried it easily. "A Stunning Spell, no surprises there," Snape said, giving commentary on Jon's attack. "You'll have to do better than that, Mr. Crown."

"As you wish," Jon muttered. He gestured downward with his wand; a blue bolt shot out of it into the floor, and there was a crackling sound as a sheet of ice suddenly covered the floor of the classroom. At the same time Jon's wand snapped back up and at Snape, who flicked his wand to parry the spell. This time, however, Jon's spell hit Snape's shield and pushed hard against it, sending Snape sliding on the now-icy floor. Snape overbalanced and fell onto his side. His shield disappeared and with a final flick of Jon's wand, Snape's wand flew out of his hand and across the room.

For several moments there was dead silence as everyone stared in shock at the sight of Snape, floundering wandless on the floor as he attempted to regain his feet. Then Dean Thomas shouted "_Excellent_!" and the entire room, except for the Slytherins, burst into applause. Jon, who had lowered his wand, looked at Harry with a small, almost mirthless smile. He gave a small shrug, as if to say, "Well, he asked for it…" Harry, grinning, joined in the applause.

"_Silence_!" Snape had regained his feet and was glaring at them in barely suppressed fury. Harry doubted whether Snape had ever been so completely humiliated by a student in class before. A student, a _foreigner_, had just beat him at his dearest subject. Harry made sure he was the last one to stop applauding.

One of the Slytherins had retrieved Snape's wand and returned it to him. Glaring at Jon, Snape vanished the ice on the floor then returned behind his desk. "Return to your seat," he said to him in a tightly-controlled voice. "Ten points from Gryffindor for foul play."

There were cries of protest from Gryffindor students "Foul play? That was _brilliant_!" shouted Dean Thomas.

"I don't recall asking for your commentary, Mr. Thomas," Snape snarled. "However, since you've seen fit to give it… ten more points from Gryffindor, for cheek. Similar comments will invite similar punishment. Do I make myself clear?" The protests died away.

"Good." Visibly collecting himself, Snape took out his book and directed everyone to chapter 14 to begin the class. His lecture, however, was all but ignored as everyone marveled over what they had seen – Snape humiliated!

Snape must have found it humiliating as well, because he dismissed class almost 30 minutes early, leaving the room straightaway with no further comment to anyone.

Several students immediately went over to Jon, still excited by what they'd witnessed. "I just gave him what he wanted," he said with a shrug. "I doubt whether I'd ever be able to trip him up like that again."

"Well, once was enough!" Neville, who'd come over to congratulate him, declared. Neville had been almost deathly afraid of Snape in the past due to Snape's particularly vile treatment of him. "It was b-beautiful seeing him laying there like a turtle flipped onto its back!"

They dispersed into the hallways, students still making comments to Jon, until only he, Harry, Hermione and Ron were left making their way toward the Gryffindor common room. As they rounded one corner, however, they found Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle waiting for them.

"What now, Malfoy?" Harry said, irritated. "Want to brag some more about your mommy buying the Slytherins new brooms so they'll keep you on the team?"

Malfoy scowled. "Shut your trap, Potter. I've got unfinished business with your new boyfriend." He looked at Jon. "You fancy a duel, Crown, or are you too much of a Yank Mudblood to know what one is?"

Hermione gasped and both Harry and Ron reacted at the epithet. "Mudblood" was a very offensive term. But Jon hadn't reacted to it at all. "Oh, I know what a duel is, Malfoy. I just don't think you've got the stones for one."

"You want to have a go, then?" Malfoy challenged him.

"Right here?" Jon said, looking around the hallway.

"No," Malfoy replied derisively. "This Friday. We can meet in the Room of Requirement at, say, 10 p.m."

"What's the 'Room of Requirement?' " Jon asked.

"They can tell you," Malfoy said, jerking a thumb at Harry and Ron. "Are you game, then?"

Jon nodded slowly. "Yeah, I'm game." Behind Harry, Hermione sighed with resigned exasperation.

"Good." Malfoy smirked. "You can bring two seconds with you. I suppose if you can't scrape up anyone better you can use Potter and Weasley. These two will be mine," Malfoy pointed to Crabbe and Goyle. "Don't chicken out, or it'll be all over school by Monday that you're all talk and no go." He spun on his heel and walked away. Crabbe and Goyle stood still for a moment, smiling menacingly at them, then followed Malfoy down the corridor.

Harry was impressed by Jon being willing to duel Malfoy his first week at school, but Hermione said reproachfully, "I can't believe you let him talk you into that, Jon."

"I'll be surprised if he goes through with it," Jon said candidly. "He's just ticked off because I showed him up twice today. He's blowing off steam."

"He spent his entire sixth year plotting to kill our headmaster," Hermione said.

"Which Harry said he couldn't do when it came down to it," Jon reminded her. "He's just a typical bully."

"Fine," Hermione said, annoyed at Jon's dismissive attitude. "Fight him, then. Have fun." She turned and walked away toward the Gryffindor common room.

Jon was silent several moments, then turned to Harry and Ron. "What's with _her_? Everything she's told me about Malfoy has been bad. She thinks he's despicable. So what's she mad at _me_ for now?"

"No idea," said Harry. Ron said nothing.

"Do _you_ think I shouldn't fight him?" Jon asked them. "Should I have refused to duel with him?"

"Absolutely not," Ron said quickly. "Malfoy's a foul, twisted git who needs to be knocked down a few pegs. He shouldn't even be back in school after what he did last year. Ron looked down the corridor Malfoy had disappeared down, clearly resentful. "I expect his parents' money covered up his failures, though."

"I think you did the right thing," Harry agreed, but not for the same reasons as Ron. "Malfoy could use being taken down a peg or two – and so could whoever made him Head Boy this year," he added, wondering how McGonagall could have made such an idiotic mistake.

"You'll be my seconds, then?" Jon asked them.

"Oh, I wouldn't miss this for all the gold in Gringotts," Ron said fervently as they turned and started toward the Gryffindor common room. "Well, not for half of it, anyway."


	14. Deirdre Recaunt

Chapter 14

**Deidre Recaunt**

The next day's classes began in Double Potions. Harry wondered if McGonagall had had as much trouble getting Professor Slughorn to agree to a second year as Dumbledore had. He was certainly no less jovial than he'd been last year. "Welcome, welcome!" he said happily as each group of students appeared, and "Good to see you again!" as a few of his Slug Club protégés entered the Potions classroom.

Slughorn had started his sixth-years class with cauldrons of potions for them to identify. This year there was nothing like that in evidence, just rows of empty desks and Slughorn himself, smiling benignly behind his teacher's desk. Harry watched him nod a greeting toward Jon as the American seated himself next to Hermione, and to Zabini, already sitting near Malfoy. There was no jovial greeting for him this year, Harry noted; Slughorn merely smiled and nodded as he entered.

"Welcome back, all of you," Slughorn spread his arms grandly, "and a _special_ welcome to your new classmate from across the ocean, Mr. Jonathan Crown, whom I am delighted to see here today." Harry smiled thinly: Slughorn was still up to his old tricks, buttering up students he felt were destined for greatness or notoriety.

"Well now, well now," Slughorn mused, looking at all of them. "I trust you've all had pleasant summers…" There were several murmurs of assent and nods from the class. Stealing a glance to the opposite side of the room, Harry saw Malfoy, seated next to Theodore Nott, looking bored and irritated.

"Let's begin then, shall we?" Slughorn said, taking out his copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_. Harry's copy of the book was still in the Room of Requirement; he'd stashed it there after Snape had demanded to see all of his books after the incident with Malfoy and _Sectumsempra_ in the sixth-floor boys' bathroom. Harry raised his hand. "Yes?" Slughorn inquired, looking at Harry with none of the eagerness he'd given to Neville or Jon.

"Er – sir, my copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_ is – misplaced," Harry said. "Do you have a copy I can borrow until I find it again?" He knew there was a copy available, Slughorn had loaned it to him last year, the one owned by the Half-Blood Prince, until Harry had switched covers with the copy he got from Flourish and Blotts and returned the new copy, with its old cover, to Slughorn.

"I'm afraid not, m'boy," Slughorn said genially. "I loaned out the last copy just yesterday. Why don't you share Mr. Weasley's book until your own turns up again? There's a good lad!"

Annoyed, Harry slid closer to Ron, who whispered, "What if you can't find it again? What'll you do then?" Harry just shook his head.

After discussing some of the N.E.W.T.-level potions they would be making during the year, Slughorn set them to making one of the "simpler" ones – the Pepperup Potion, he decided, since "Madam Pomfrey will certainly need some this fall for those of you who are unlucky enough to catch cold," Slughorn explained, beaming at the class.

The class got busy setting up cauldrons and gathering ingredients. Harry and Ron looked up the potion in Ron's copy of the book:

**Pepperup Potion  
**1 c. Pomegranate juice  
6 dried hellebore leaves, average size  
2 horned-toad livers, average size  
1 T. flobberworm mucus  
½ t. mandrake powder  
¼ t. moonstone powder

Harry went to collect the ingredients from the classroom cupboards. He collected most of the ingredients except the hellebore leaves; nearly every one of the containers in the cupboard was empty, having been taken by other students in the class collecting their own. He finally found a jar near the back of the cupboard and drew six leaves from it, then turned to return to his desk when Jon stopped him.

"That's the wrong kind of hellebore for Pepperup, Harry," Jon said in a low voice.

"How can you tell?" Harry whispered back.

"Smell it," Jon said. Harry did, but there was no odor to the leaves that he could detect.

"I don't smell anything," he said with a shrug.

"Now smell these," Jon said, holding up a small bowl into which he'd placed six hellebore leaves. Harry did and caught a slightly pungent aroma. He blinked and Jon smiled. "They'll smell even more when they're crushed." He looked through the cupboard for a few moments, finally pulling out a jar marked "Dungwort." He opened the jar slightly and sniffed, then nodded and poured out a dozen dried leaves into another bowl.

"These'll work," he said to Harry, handing him the leaves. "They're old but they're still pungent."

"Thanks," Harry said, grateful for the help. He gathered up his other ingredients and returned to the desk where Ron had just finished setting up both their cauldrons.

"What were you and he whispering about?" Ron asked, glancing suspiciously at Jon.

"He was helping me find the right ingredients," Harry said. He glanced to the desk next to them where Jon and Hermione were each beginning to put ingredients into their cauldrons. Hermione, as usual, was meticulously following the recipe as written. Jon, however, seemed to be simply going about it his own way, with hardly a glance at the book.

Harry looked again at the recipe in Libatius Borage's tome:

Crush hellebore leaves, stir into pomegranate juice. Dice livers finely  
using a silver knife, stir in slowly. Add ½ tablespoon of flobberworm  
mucus, simmer until potion turns pale green, about 30 minutes. Add  
mandrake powder slowly, stirring anticlockwise until potion turns gray-  
white. Add moonstone powder, potion should begin to steam and turn  
pale yellow. Add drops of flobberworm mucus, stirring anticlockwise  
between drops until the last drops hangs from stirring spoon but does  
not fall. Serve with chocolate.

It looked pretty straightforward, Harry thought. Both Jon and Hermione were chopping their horned-toad livers. He and Ron lit their cauldrons and poured in their pomegranate juice and followed suit. A glance to the other side of the classroom showed that Malfoy and Nott were each working on the potion as well; they seemed to be ignoring each other, Harry noticed.

"Aren't you adding any flobberworm mucus to your potion?" Harry heard Hermione ask Jon.

"No, it's just for thickening," Jon told her, watching the fire under his cauldron flicker. "It'll turn color in about 25 minutes without the mucus in there. I usually add it at the end."

Harry turned back to his own desk. Ron was measuring out a half-tablespoon of mucus. "Let's leave the mucus out for now," Harry said in a low voice. He didn't really want to let Hermione know he was following Jon's recipe, if it didn't work they weren't likely to hear the end of it for some time. Ron shrugged, his mouth twisted as if he were irritated, but he didn't add the mucus to his cauldron.

And sure enough, 25 or so minutes later, Jon, Harry and Ron's cauldrons each showed a simmering pale green liquid. Hermione looked into Jon's cauldron, then at him, stone-faced, but remained silent. Jon, meanwhile had gathered up his mandrake powder and, while stirring his potion, tossed the entire quarter-teaspoon into the pot.

"Oh!" Hermione gasped. Both Harry and Ron jumped at her exclamation, and several other students looked her way. Jon turned to her in surprise. "You weren't supposed to throw all that in at once!" she said in an urgent whisper, conscious of everyone's eyes on her, including Slughorn's.

"Is anything wrong, my dear?" Slughorn inquired solicitously.

"Oh, no, no," Hermione said, smiling and waving her hands to forestall any more questions. "Just thought I'd forgotten something, but it's okay, okay."

Harry leaned over toward Ron and said in a low voice, "It's weird to see Hermione so freaked out, isn't it?"

"By someone other than you or me, yeah," Ron said, scowling. He was adding his mandrake slowly, according to the recipe.

"It's okay, Hermione," Jon was telling her. "The recipe tells you to add it slowly so it's well-blended. But you can also just pour it in with a counterclockwise motion, stirring well; it accomplishes the same goal." He was still stirring his own potion in the same direction. He looked in and smiled; the potion had gone gray-white, just as the recipe had said it should.

Harry grimaced. He had just dumped his mandrake in without waiting to hear Jon's explanation. Hoping he hadn't ruined it, he began stirring his potion vigorously.

"Slow down a bit." Jon had stepped over to look in Harry's cauldron. "You poured all the mandrake powder in at once, didn't' you?" Harry nodded. "It'll come around," Jon said, looking at the swirling contents of Harry's pot. "Just keep up a steady stirring for a while, you don't need to beat it."

"Thanks again," murmured Harry.

"No problem," Jon smiled. "When it goes gray-white, give it about a half-dozen more stirs, then it's ready for the moonstone. After that, put in the half-tablespoon of flobberworm, stir for a minute, then add more as the recipe directs." Harry nodded and Jon stepped back to his own cauldron. Hermione, who'd been sneaking a peek into his cauldron, quickly stepped back to her own.

"Ten more minutes," Slughorn announced from the front of the class. He was sipping from a cup of tea on his desk, one he must have conjured up at some point – Harry didn't remember him getting up to get anything.

Harry continued adding drops of mucus, stirring, and watching the potion drip from the end of his stirring spoon. Beside him, Ron was beginning to do the same. Jon was watching drops of pale yellow potion fall from his spoon into his cauldron, with the last one forming but not falling. He put his spoon down on the desk and looked over at Hermione's potion. She was beaming as her potion acted in exactly the same way.

Ron had just gotten his potion to act like Harry's when Slughorn announced, "Time's up! Now let's see how well you all have done." He began making his way around the room, starting on the opposite side.

"Just in time," Ron whispered to Harry, relieved. "Hey, is this getting easier to do, or what?"

"This was an easy one," Harry said with a thin smile. "But it's probably easier not having Snape to deal with."

"Too right," Ron agreed feelingly. "I always felt like I had rat droppings for brains when he was teaching Potions."

Slughorn, still sipping from his tea cup, had come to Blaise Zabini's potion. He looked in, nodded agreeably, then asked Zabini, "How is your mother getting along these days? I hear she's engaged…"

Zabini smiled emotionlessly. "She is. She's very happy, she tells me. He's a good man."

_Good and rich, I'll bet_, Harry thought cynically.

"Splendid!" Slughorn boomed delightedly. "I hope she'll send me an invitation. I may not be able to attend, but I have just the wedding present for her!"

Zabini inclined his head in thanks. "I will be sure to let her know."

Slughorn beamed at him and moved to the next cauldron, Malfoy's. He studied it for a few moments, then smiled at Draco as if they were old friends. "My boy, an excellent job, an excellent job, indeed!"

Malfoy flushed. "Thank you, sir," he said, clearly surprised at the praise. He smiled smugly as Slughorn passed on the next pot, pleased at his good showing.

"If he liked Malfoy's," Ron whispered to Harry, "He oughta fall in love with ours."

As it turned out, everyone did a good job with their Pepperup Potions. By the time he'd come around to the front of the room again, Slughorn had almost run out of praiseworthy comments. He did find Jon's potion, however, to be worth one last outburst of praise.

"Truly magnificent!" Slughorn breathed as he stirred Jon's potion and watched the drops fall away, leaving the last one on the edge of the spoon. "A perfect example of the potion! I wish I had a cold _now_, it would be an honor to be cured by this brew!" He took out his wand and waved it at a cupboard; the door flew open and a box of potion bottles floated out and began moving about the room.

"Take one of the potion bottles and carefully pour your potions into it, then label it with the potion name, your name and the date. I'll deliver them to Madam Pomfrey this evening. She'll let us know which of your potions can be considered 'Healer-worthy'."

"Oh!" Hermione's hand shot into the air. "Professor," she said when he looked her way. "Why didn't you let us know that before we began making the potions?"

"Well, my dear," Slughorn said blandly. "I hope you performed exactly the same steps you would have if you'd _known_ you were making this for a Healer."

"Oh. O-of course," Hermione stammered.

The bell rang. Amid the hubbub of students suddenly moving to pack their cauldrons and scales and get to their next classes came Slughorn's voice. "Your reading assignment is on the board. Answer the essay question at the end of the last chapter; I'd like to have at least 18 inches from each of you. Now be quick, your next class awaits you!"

Hermione began hurriedly searching for her funnel to pour off her potion into the bottle. Jon, having just cleaned his after pouring off his own potion, offered it to her. She accepted it, smiling at Jon.

A book slammed hard behind Harry, startling him. He turned to see Ron thrusting his Potions book into his book bag. Ron tossed his cauldron into his bag as well, not bothering to wash it out, and stalked out of the room without a word to Harry. Neither Jon, nor more importantly, Hermione, seemed to have noticed.

Ron maintained his sullen silence throughout the rest of the day, through another Defense Against the Dark Arts class with an equally sullen but certainly less silent Snape, who spent the entire hour lecturing on categories of advanced Defense magic, assigning them several chapters of reading and two essays, the first on recognizing intended nonverbal spells based on the caster's wand motions and the second, what defenses could be employed against Leglimency other than Occlumency.

It was only near the end of Double Herbology, a class they didn't share with Jon, that Ron calmed down and began acting normally again, especially when Hermione praised him for his technique in harvesting lungwort root, their practical for the second half of the double class.

"That was an interesting class," Ron was saying as they walked back toward the Gryffindor common room after Herbology was over. "Some of Professor Sprout's classes last year were about as interesting as watching mud dry."

"Very funny," Hermione said, but she was smiling indulgently. "I've found all of them interesting in one way or another."

"Well, you would," Ron agreed. "But you're almost as much a teacher's pet in there as Neville is."

"Oh, that's not fair, Ron," Hermione teased him. "Don't you know _I'm _her favorite student, not Neville?"

They had reached the Gryffindor common room and the portrait of the Fat Lady, who smiled and waved in greeting. "Stoat sandwich," Harry said, giving the password, and the portrait obligingly swung open, allowing them to climb through.

There were a number of students in the common room, studying alone or in small groups, or chatting on various subjects. A few people waved toward them: Dean and Seamus in a group of students listening to Dean talking about Quidditch.

Jon was there as well, sitting alone in an armchair reading a thick book. He looked up and waved as Harry looked his way. Harry waved back, and Hermione smiled and waved as well. Ron ignored him, walking over to an empty table where they could sit and work until dinner. They arranged themselves around the table and pulled out their homework. After a few moments Hermione said softly, "Do we want to see if Jon wants to come and study with us?"

"No," Ron said flatly.

"No?" Hermione repeated, sounding irked. "And why not?"

"Because we have a lot of homework for the next few days," Ron said, waving his hands over their collection of books on the table before him. "And if he comes over here you're going to _talk_ about homework instead of _doing_ it."

"And what if I do?" Hermione said, heating up. "How's that going to stop _you_ from doing _your_ homework?"

"Because it's hard to concentrate with you going on and on about every problem in Arithmancy and Ancient Runes and every other subject you've studied with Mr. Brainwave over there!" Ron popped off. Hermione gasped and looked at him, shocked. Harry winced, silently cursing Ron for being such a prat.

Hermione stood and began gathering her books. "Fine," she said, her lips trembling. "If you don't want to hear me talk I can go somewhere else and work while you stay here and study in 'quiet'," her words a sarcastic comment on the level of noise in the common room. Before Ron could say anything else she turned and stormed out through the common room exit.

Ron watched her go then turned back to look at the book in front of him. Harry glared at him in exasperation. After a few moments Ron looked up at Harry and said irritably, "What?"

"You're really a git sometimes, you know that?" Harry said, annoyed as well.

"Well, she started it!" Ron hissed, keeping his voice low.

"No she didn't!" Harry replied, amazed Ron was trying to foist this off on Hermione.

"Yes she did!" Ron insisted. "She wanted to bring him round _again_ after hanging around him all day!"

"For homework, Ron! For _homework_!"

"You think it's about _homework_, do you?" Ron snorted. "I don't know why she doesn't just dump me and be done with it!"

"What d'you mean?"

"Hasn't it been obvious? Blimey, Harry, are you _completely_ gormless? She and I haven't been getting on good since after Bill and Fleur got married! It seems like we fight nearly every day!"

Harry couldn't argue with that; every time he'd seen Ron and Hermione happy lately it seemed to be just before or just after some row they'd had.

"You know what I think?" Harry said finally.

"What?" Ron asked nervously.

"I think we need to get something to eat."

Ron looked at Harry silently for several long moments, then snorted, laughing. "Well, I do my best thinking on a full stomach," he conceded. "Maybe you're right."

They packed up their book bags and ran up to their dormitory, threw their books onto their respective beds, then came back down to the common room. Harry stopped, looking at Jon, then at Ron. Ron sighed, then shrugged and said, "What the hell. Go ahead and ask."

"Hi, Jon," Harry said, walking over to where Jon was sitting. He looked at the book Jon was reading; it did not appear to be one of the texts for any of the classes they were in. "What are you reading?"

"Hi, Harry. Oh, this?" Jon turned the book so Harry could see the cover. It said, "Topics in Advanced Transfigurations" by Janus Jacoby. "I saw it in the Library this afternoon and thought I'd give it a read," Jon said.

He had been reading near the last third of the book, Harry remembered seeing as he'd walked up to Jon. How could someone (other than Hermione, of course) read most of a book like that in an afternoon?

"Uh, Ron and I are going down for dinner," Harry said. "D'you want to come down with us?"

"Sure, I'm getting hungry anyway," Jon agreed. "Thanks!" He stuffed the book into his bag and said, "Let me run this up to my dorm room." He disappeared up the boys' dormitory staircase.

As they stood waiting for Jon to return, Ron said quietly, "Going to the Library to find books to read for something to do. Does that sound like anyone we know?"

"Shut it, Ron."

Jon reappeared a few moments later and they walked down to the Great Hall where dinner was just beginning. "By the way," Jon asked as they were walking in. "What happened to Hermione earlier? I saw her get up and run out of the common room?"

"Er, she remembered something she had to take care of," Harry said, carefully avoiding Ron's gaze. "A, uh, reading assignment." Jon nodded, apparently satisfied with that explanation.

They found seats and began piling food onto their plates. There was roast beef and steak and kidney pies, goulash, fish fillets, bowls of mashed potatoes, gravy and corn, plates of bread and rolls and chips, and mugs of pumpkin juice and ice-cold water. Harry, Ron and Jon all ate as if they were starving, too hungry even to talk – which, for once, Harry was grateful, because he really didn't know what to say to either of them at the moment.

"Hey."

Harry looked up, startled. Ginny had walked up, entirely unnoticed by any of them. She sat down next to Jon, said hi to him and Ron, then looked intently at Harry. "I've got some news about Malfoy."

"What's that?" Harry asked, wondering what was so important she couldn't wait until later to share it.

"The reason why Malfoy's mother bought those Firestars is because they were going to kick him off the team if he didn't come up with some reason for them to keep him on."

"Wait a minute," Ron said, barely able to contain his glee. "Are you saying the Slytherins are _blackmailing_ one of their own?"

"Looks like it," Ginny said with a grin. "Malfoy's failure to kill Dumbledore was somehow leaked; it's made a lot of Wizarding folk upset with Slytherin House and its alumni. A lot of them are encountering bad feelings, and it's turned ugly in some cases – Slytherin alums getting sacked from jobs and the like."

"Serves 'em right," Ron said darkly.

"Maybe so," Ginny replied, shrugging. "But the upshot is, the Slytherins are all pretty much giving Malfoy the cold shoulder now." That explained why he and Nott weren't talking in Potions class, Harry remembered.

"He's still running around with Crabbe and Goyle," Harry said.

"And that's about it," Ginny agreed. "They're the only ones in Slytherin who've stuck by him. And you know how dim they are."

She stood up again. "Gotta go," she said. "I've got some questions for Hermione on Arithmancy before it gets too late."

"Try the Library," Harry said. "I think that's where she was headed earlier."

"Thanks," Ginny said, hurrying off. "See you!"

Almost before she was out of sight, however, two more figures appeared next to Harry and Ron: Luna Lovegood with the other exchange student, Deirdre Recaunt, in tow.

"Hello, Harry, here you are at last," Luna said, smiling dreamily at him.

"Hello, Luna," Harry said, looking at Deirdre who was smiling as well, although looking somewhat nervously at him.

"I've been trying to find a moment when I could introduce you to Deirdre and have a moment to talk," Luna said. "Deirdre wanted very much to meet you."

"She does?" Harry said, surprised. "Why?"

"Well, because you're Harry Potter," Luna said simply, as if that explained everything.

"Hi, Harry," Deirdre said, extending a hand which Harry shook; her hand was soft but she had a firm grip for a girl. "Luna means that _everybody's_ heard of you, and I just wanted to meet you as well, since I had the chance."

"I see," said Harry. "It's nice to meet you. Do you come from around these parts?"

"Yes," Deirdre said. "My – family – lives in a small village not far from here." Harry got the impression she was going to say something other than "family."

Luna pointed to Ron and told Deirdre, "You should meet Harry's friend Ronald Weasley, too. Ronald is very funny sometimes, but he can also be kind of rude." Ron, who had been extending his hand, gave Luna a pained look but shook hands politely with Deirdre.

"Pleased to meet you, Ronald," Deirdre smiled.

"Call me Ron," he said with a smile.

Luna turned to Jon. "You probably remember Jonathan Crown from the Sorting Ceremony. I don't know much about him except that he's supposed to be very smart. I wonder why he didn't sort into Ravenclaw as well."

Jon stood and extended his hand across the table. "Hopefully, I'm living up to my reputation," he said with a smile. Deirdre reached across the table and they shook hands.

"I haven't seen you in any classes, yet," Deirdre said, smiling at him in return. "But I'm not taking very many – only Herbology, Astronomy, Divination, and Transfiguration."

"We may see each other in Transfiguration, then – the first class for seventh-years is later in the week," Jon said, taking his seat. "Are you enjoying the school environment here?"

"It's different than I'm used to," Deirdre admitted. "I'm used to smaller classes, only a half-dozen or so students at a time. And our subjects are more open-ended than here at the school. But it's been very interesting!" she added hastily, looking at Harry as if she'd insulted him.

"I'm sure it must be interesting," Harry agreed, hoping his speaking up would let Deirdre know he hadn't taken offense. "We're probably a different environment than Jon's used to as well."

"Really?" Deirdre said, looking back at Jon. "Where did you go to school before here?"

"At the Merlin School of Advanced Witchcraft and Wizardry in Salem, Massachusetts," Jon said.

Deirdre looked thoughtful for a moment. "I don't recall hearing that name before," she said finally. "Where in England is 'Massachusetts?' "

"Nowhere –" Jon said, with a small chuckle "– in England. It's in North America, in the United States."

"Oh, I see!" Deirdre said, sounding a bit awed. You're not even a native of this country! I wondered why your speech patterns were slightly different from everyone else's."

Come to think of it, Harry realized, Deirdre's speech wasn't any British accent he'd ever heard before, from the kind he'd grown up with, spoken around Surrey and in London, to the east-London Cockneys (such as Stan Shunpike) up to the north in York and Lancashire (where Neville and his grandmother were from), or even the Lowlands Scottish accent of Professor McGonagall.

"Your accent is interesting, too, Deirdre," Harry said. "You're from around this area, are you?"

"Oh, ah…" Deirdre covered her mouth, seemingly embarrassed. "I'm such a mush-mouth," she said through her hand. "I need to learn to pronounce my words better." Harry's ears pricked up; was he imagining it or was Deirdre now speaking with the same Surrey accent in his own voice?

"We have a few more people to meet," Luna said, looking around the Hall to see if any of them were there. We should say goodnight to Harry and Ronald and their American friend Jon – we'll see you again soon, I hope?"

"We'll be around," Harry said, nodding to her in a friendly fashion. Deirdre waved to them, giving Jon an extra look and smile, before she and Luna moved off.

Harry and Ron stared after them for a while, then turned back to their meals and continued eating. After a few moments Ron said, without looking up, "So what'd you think about _that_?"

"Interesting," Harry said, also without looking up. "I can see why Ginny thought she and Luna belonged together."

"I thought she was nice enough," Jon said. "Actually, both of them seemed nice."

"Don't get out much, do you, mate?" Ron said pityingly.


	15. The Vault of Mystery

Chapter 15

**The Vault of Mystery**

Harry and Ron sat up in the Gryffindor common room until well after midnight, pretending to do homework while they waited for Hermione to return. She never reappeared, however, and Ron worked himself into a state, alternately worried and furious with her.

"She's just being stubborn," Ron muttered when they finally gathered up their books and trudged back up to their dormitory. "I can't win. If _I_ did what _she's_ doing, you'd tell me I was a prat. But are you going to call _her_ a prat for acting like that? I don't think so."

Harry wisely decided to say nothing one way or the other on that matter. He and Ron decided to head up to their beds after Harry posted the Quidditch practice sessions for the next few weeks on the common room bulletin board

By the time they came down to breakfast the next morning, however, Hermione was already in the Great Hall, reading the _Daily Prophet_ and otherwise acting as if nothing had happened. She greeted them absently as they sat down across from her and began helping themselves to breakfast.

"So," Ron said casually, after a minute or so of silence. "Anybody we know dead?"

"No," Hermione replied without looking up. "Nobody's dead."

"So what're you reading?" Harry pressed, hoping to get her talking, for once.

"This Vault story from Gringotts," Hermione replied. "It's getting really fascinating. There's going to be a competition over it now."

"A competition?" Ron repeated. "What do you mean?"

"Well, it's – oh, here," Hermione handed the paper to Ron. "You can both read it for yourselves."

**_Gringotts Announces Mystery  
Vault Tournament_**

Gringotts Wizarding Bank announced yesterday that it would sponsor  
a tournament allowing eligible witches and wizards to attempt to open  
the so-called Mystery Vault, an artifact discovered in a seldom-used  
section of the Bank, in a series of competitions that will begin in the  
near future.

"Gringotts, dedicated to making the Wizarding banking experience as  
novel and exciting as possible, has decided to give the public a look  
into how some of our most dedicated employees, the Cursebreakers,  
go about their work. The Mystery Vault, which has been in our keeping  
for at least 30 years, is being made available to the Wizarding public a  
chance to experience the exhilaration of discovering real treasure, just  
as our employees do," the Bank's Chief Goblin said in a statement read  
by the Bank's Truth-Speaker, Gornuk.

Some in the Wizarding community, however, maintain that it is very likely  
that Gringotts Cursebreakers, as well as Gringotts goblins, have attempted  
to open the mysterious vault, with unfortunate results. "Let's just say," one  
source told the Prophet, on condition of remaining anonymous, "there's a  
reason why the Chief Goblin is on holiday right now." It has been rumored  
but not confirmed that the Chief Goblin, in attempting to open the vault, had  
all of his fingers and toes magically stuck together.

Details of the Tournament competition are still spotty, but the Bank has stated  
it will release further information in the next day or two.

"Wonder if it was Bill who gave them that quote," Ron wondered with a grin. "He thinks the Chief Goblin is a skinflint."

"The Chief Goblin?" It was Jon, walking up to where they were seated, who had spoken. He sat down next to Hermione and nodded to her. She smiled and nodded back. Jon looked at Harry. "I think one of the goblins in the bank mentioned a Chief Goblin while we were there."

Ron, who had just given Harry a significant look as Jon sat next to Hermione, said, "Yeah, he's in charge of the Bank. You remember that Vault you and Harry almost got a look at? It looks like they're going to allow wizards to have a go at getting inside it!" Ron looked up dreamily. "Can you imagine how much gold something that big could have in it?"

"Can you imagine how hard it will be to get into it if Cursebreakers like your brother haven't been able to?" Hermione said skeptically. "Ron, you can't really be imagining that you have a chance!"

"Well, why not?" Ron said, looking at her crossly. "Besides, it doesn't have to be me alone – we could all have a go at figuring it out together."

Hermione stared at him with a "have you forgotten?" look on her face. When Ron only stared blankly at her, she said evasively, "I think we've got bigger ducks in the pond than that, don't you?"

"What – oh." Ron stole a look at Jon, then lapsed into silence.

But Jon, putting eggs and sausages on his plate, looked shrewdly at Harry and asked, "What ducks?" He began cutting one of the sausages.

"Nothing," Harry said. "We just have a lot of studying to do this year for our N.E.W.T.s."

"I suppose so," Jon said quietly, swallowing a piece of sausage. "Since you no longer have a job as 'the Chosen One'."

"Now what's that supposed to mean?" Harry asked, just as quietly.

"The other boys in my dorm room have been talking a lot about you, and Neville," Jon said, looking at Harry as he cut up his eggs. "The word is that, last year, you were 'the Chosen One' and destined to destroy Voldemort.

"Now, however," he continued, turning to look at Hermione and Ron, both watching him steadily. "It looks like Neville Longbottom did what you were supposed to do, and now he's riding high while you've been left behind."

"Watch it, mate," Ron growled. "You don't know what you're on about."

"I think I do, 'mate,' " Jon shot back. "We've been studying Voldemort in America too, and come up with some pretty unpleasant ideas about him."

"Such as?" Harry prompted.

"Such as, how could a wizard that had his own Killing Curse rebound on him survive it?" Jon said in a low voice. "By rights either he, or Harry, who he'd intended to kill, should be dead." He pointed to Harry's forehead. "The Killing Curse hit Harry but didn't kill him. It rebounded on Voldemort. From what I've read it destroyed the house and Voldemort's body, but left Harry unharmed except for the scar on his forehead.

"Yeah, we know all that," Ron said dismissively. "We were _there_, in the Ministry, when it happened. So what's your point?"

"The point is, if Voldemort was able to come back once, he may be able to come back again."

Neither Harry, Ron nor Hermione said anything in reply. None of them would risk giving out a clue of how close Jon was to being right.

After breakfast was over they left for their morning classes, a double Charms and Potions. Both passed uneventfully, although in each class Malfoy took every opportunity, when no teacher was watching, to remind Jon of their upcoming duel by waving his wand suggestively or threateningly. For the most part, Jon ignored him or merely smiled in return, a gesture which seemed to inflame Malfoy even more.

After lunch, (at which Ron made sure that he was seated next to Hermione, not Jon) Hermione gathered up her books and dashed off to her afternoon classes, along with Jon, while Harry and Ron returned to the Gryffindor common room. Dean Thomas came over to check with Harry about Quidditch tryouts on Saturday afternoon. Harry confirmed they were set; what he didn't like, but said nothing about, was that there were very few people who'd signed up so far. Satisfied, Dean went on his way, leaving Harry and Ron to discuss practice schedules and strategy for the year, something Harry was still having trouble getting interested in.

Both he and Ron had other thoughts on their minds. Ron had seized upon the idea of competing in the Vault Tournament being organized by Gringotts. "It's got to be full of treasure, don't you think?" Ron kept saying, while Harry, tired of Quidditch formations and organizing practices, had gotten out his Charms homework and was reading through the text. "A vault that big could have maybe a hundred thousand Galleons in it, maybe more, don't you think, Harry?"

"Definitely more," Harry said, baiting Ron, though Ron's dreams of fantastic wealth left him gormless about Harry's intentions. "Maybe a couple of hundred thousand, maybe more."

"You think so?" Ron marveled. "It would be so cool to win that!"

He was still daydreaming about the Vault when Jon returned to the common room after Arithmancy class. "How's it going?" Jon said as he stopped at the table where Harry and Ron were sitting.

"Okay," Harry replied. He still wasn't sure what to make of their conversation earlier in the day. There was something about Jon that made Harry vaguely uneasy, something he couldn't yet identify.

"You saw that Vault when you were with Harry in Gringotts Bank, didn't you?" Ron asked Jon suddenly. Jon dropped his book bag on the floor next to a chair and sat down.

"Yeah, a little of it, at least," Jon nodded. "They were still raising it up out of a lower level, so we only got a glimpse before they kicked us out."  
"How much gold do you think is in it?" Ron asked him baldly.

Jon considered a moment. "I don't have any idea," he said finally. "I suppose there could be a lot. It's pretty big."

"I think we ought to go check it out this weekend," Ron said to Harry. "We've got liberty then, you know."

"I don't think the board of governors allowed seventh-years weekend liberty so they could go running off to London," Harry averred. "Besides, it's like a nine hour train ride."

"We could Apparate," Ron suggested eagerly. "Or even take a Floo to Fred and George's."

"That's a long way to Apparate in one go," Harry said dubiously. He had never traveled that distance by himself, although he and Dumbledore had Apparated from Hogsmeade to a spot near the sea where they found the cave hiding the fake Horcrux. He had never considered how far they had traveled, but it must have been at least as far. He had no idea whether Ron could make that trip on his own or not.

"Oddly enough, the subject of the Floo Network came up in our Arithmancy class today," Jon put in. "We were discussing some of the mathematics of connecting all the different fireplaces and Professor Vector mentioned that even though restrictions on the Floo Network have been cut back, the school only has a few connections back on, mostly to the Ministry."

"Dammit," Ron growled. "I don't fancy riding a broom all that way, either."

Jon was looking at him curiously. "You know," he said slowly. "I do have a way for us to get there in a few hours without much hassle."

"And what's that?" Ron said suspiciously.

"I think I'd rather show you," Jon said mysteriously. "But we have to go into Hogsmeade to see it. There's an abandoned house there –"

"You mean the Shrieking Shack?" Harry cut in. "We know about it, everybody does."

"Well," Jon continued, "I needed a place to store some of my things that were a little too – er – big to keep here at the school. I found a room in the house that was big enough to accommodate everything."

"You're joking!" Ron said incredulously. "Even Fred and George could never find a way into the Shack!"

"We did," Harry reminded him.

"Well, that's different," Ron demurred. "Course _we_ found a way in! But it damn near killed us!"

Harry looked back at Jon. "So what are you telling us? That you have a way for us to get to London hidden in the Shrieking Shack, and you want to show it to us?"

"Yes," Jon replied. "I would like to see that Vault again myself. I don't know if we could figure out a way to open it, but three heads are better than one."

Harry was silent for a moment. He looked at Ron, who looked back at him, hopeful; that surprised Harry a bit because he didn't think Ron would go for the idea of Jon getting them to Diagon Alley. "I suppose we could sneak out later tonight, when it's dark," he said, slowly.

"Excellent!" Ron enthused; several people glanced over their way, and he continued softly. "What time should we leave, then?"

"Why don't we do it now?" Jon suggested.

"Well, for one thing, we'd be seen," Harry replied. "We can't just walk out the front door and down to Hogsmeade in the middle of the afternoon. For another, Filch would probably stop us, and we'd get detention."

"We can use the secret passageway out of this room down to the school grounds." Jon pointed out.

Harry and Ron looked at each blankly. "What are you _talking_ about?" Ron finally said. "There's no secret passage out of here."

"Yes, there is," Jon said. "It's over to the left of the fireplace; it leads down to the base of the tower, where there's an exit to the outside."

"You're mental," Ron scoffed. "My brothers Fred and George knew every inch of this castle – they never said a _thing_ about a passageway out of the common room."

"And I have a map that shows every secret passageway at Hogwarts," Harry added. "I've never seen that on the map."

"Well, there's one way we can find out," Jon said plaintively; he took out his wand. "But I'd hate to reveal it right in front of everyone."

Ron looked decidedly skeptical; for a moment Harry thought he was going to call Jon's bluff. "Hang on a second," he said. "Jon, go put your books in your dorm, then come up to ours." They all picked up their books and went up to the stairs to the boys' dormitories. Jon stopped off at his room and Harry and Ron continued up to theirs. They threw their books onto their beds and Harry was getting into his trunk when Jon appeared at the door.

Harry pulled his Invisibility Cloak out of his trunk. "Know what this is?" he asked, showing it to Jon.

"It looks like an invisibility cloak," he said. "That's a good idea – we can cross the grounds over to Hogsmeade without being seen."

"We won't have to go that far," Harry said. "But first let's check out that secret passage of yours." They went back down the steps until they were just out of view of the common room.

"We'll have to be quiet," Harry cautioned Jon. "The cloak won't prevent anyone from hearing us if we make too much noise, understand?" Jon nodded, and Harry pulled the Cloak over the three of them. Huddled together somewhat uncomfortably, they made their way slowly down the steps, past a group of laughing fifth- and sixth-years, and over to the fireplace. Fortunately, no one was sitting nearby.

"Here we are," Harry whispered. "Now what?"

Jon took out his wand and said, "First, a precaution. _Muffliato_," he said. Harry recognized the spell he'd learned from Snape's _Advanced Potion-Making_ book, that caused persons nearby to hear an unidentifiable white noise, keeping them from hearing nearby conversations. How did Jon know it?

Jon, reaching out under the cloak, passed his wand wordlessly over a brick in the wall, which glowed momentarily blue. "You saw that?" Jon asked. Harry and Ron nodded.

"I'm surprised nobody ever found this before," Jon said. "The password isn't that difficult once you know the door is here. The trick is to find it in the first place, since it doesn't respond to the usual magical revelation spells."

"How'd you find it, then?" Ron whispered.

"I know a few revelation spells," Jon smiled. He reached under the cloak, touched the brick with his hand, and said, "_Sudnallitit mauqnun sneimrod ocārd_!" With a soft creak a small section of the wall opened inward, revealing a dark stairway. Carefully squeezing through the door, they started down the stairs after closing the door behind them.

Jon said "_Lumos_!" and the tip of his wand lighted, showing them a stairway that curved around as they descended. After a dozen steps Harry stopped and they removed the Invisibility Cloak, then proceeded at a more normal pace. The stairway wasn't very wide, not more than three or four feet, and the walls were of the same stone as the walls of Gryffindor Tower itself. It continued to curve around the Tower, taking them around several times before they reached the bottom, where they found a small, bare room.

Jon moved to one of the walls. "The door will be in this wall," he said. He passed his wand over the wall again and one of the stones glowed blue. Touching it, he repeated the phrase he'd said before and the stones moved of their own accord, much like the brick wall did in the courtyard of the Leaky Cauldron for the entrance to Diagon Alley.

"_Nox_," Jon said, putting away his wand. He looked at Harry. "We're ready for the Invisibility Cloak again, I think – and for your shortcut."

Getting back under the cloak, Harry, Ron and Jon stepped through the doorway and into the air. They looked behind them, finding Gryffindor Tower looming above them. "Alright," Harry said. "Let's go." They moved eastward, toward the garden and greenhouse, but veered north before reaching getting too close; Harry expected one of Professor Sprout's classes was going on now.

Less than a hundred yards away loomed the Whomping Willow, a large (and very dangerous) tree; its branches would attack anything that approached too close to it, as Harry and Ron had first found out at the beginning of their second year, when they flew Ron's father's Ford Anglia into its branches as they were trying to land on the grounds. They stopped a short distance away, out of reach of its branches.

"I've heard about this," Jon said, looking up at the tree. "It attacks anyone who gets too close."

"Or any_thing_," Harry added, remembering what it had done to his Nimbus 2000 during his third year.

"And it had a go at my dad's car in our second year," Ron added. "We got away, but the car ran off into the Forbidden Forest. It's probably still running around in there."

Jon looked at him curiously for a moment, then turned to Harry. "So why are we looking at it now?"

"There is a passageway between this tree and the Shrieking Shack," Harry explained, grinning as he saw Jon's eyes widen in surprise. "We can travel between here and there a lot faster than we could walking under the Invisibility Cloak."

"Cool!" Jon said, grinning himself. Then he nodded at the tree. "But how do we get inside, and how do we keep the tree from knocking us silly?"

Harry pointed toward the tree. "See that knot on the trunk there, on the left?" Jon squinted, following his finger, then nodded.

Harry looked around on the ground. "We need a long branch or something, to push it…" But before he found anything long enough, Jon had pulled out his wand and pointed it at the Willow under the Cloak.

"_Extendo_," he said softly, and his wand stretched out until its tip pressed against the knot. Instantly the Willow, whose branches had been swaying ominously, froze in place.

"Huh! I'll have to remember that one," Ron said as they hurried forward to where a gap in the roots revealed a earthy tunnel.

"Ron, go first," Harry said. "Jon, you follow him. The passage isn't very tall, we'll have to walk stooped over." Jon watched Ron slide into the hole; he looked at Harry, then shrugged and followed him. Harry looked around quickly, and seeing no one around, removed the Invisibility Cloak and followed them down the hole.

At the bottom, Ron had lit his wand and began crawling on hands and knees along the tunnel, with Jon close behind him. Harry stuffed his Cloak into one of his robe pockets, lit his own wand, and followed them.

After several minutes of crawling, the tunnel began to rise, then twisted, leading to a small opening into a dusty room. They each stepped through carefully and straightened up, Ron sighing as he had been the most cramped. "The Shrieking Shack," he said softly, raising his wand to light more of the room as Jon and Harry joined him.

"Where to from here?" Harry asked Jon, who was looking around.

"Good question," Jon said, looking around. "I never came into this room." He walked out into the hallway, his wand held high, then motioned for them to follow. They walked down the hallway toward the back of the house. The hallway turned to the left, into what may have been a small dining area; Jon walked into it and up to one of the walls. He passed his wand in front of it in a pattern of moves and a door appeared. He tapped the doorknob, saying "Jonathan Crown," and the door swung open.

Jon led them into a much larger room of what must have been the house's kitchen. There were no other doors or window in the room; one wall was bare, while two of them were covered in cupboards and countertops. The last wall had an assortment of brooms on it, none of which Harry or Ron recognized. All of the brooms, however, were obviously for racing or Quidditch.

"Whoa!" said Ron. "You did all this?"

"Yep," Jon nodded. "I wanted to bring my hobbies with me, assuming I'll have any time to get to them."

In the middle of the room was a large, covered object that was clearly an automobile of some type. Both Harry and Ron approached slowly while Jon watched them with a grin.

"My pride and joy," he said, and with a gesture from his wand the cover flew off, revealing the car underneath. Both Harry and Ron gasped in surprise and delight.

The car before them was a vintage American sports car Harry recognized as a Chevrolet Corvette. It was a deep pearlescent blue with a black convertible top and chrome side-pipes. Harry looked through the windows; the seats were black as well, with a black dashboard, wooden steering wheel and chrome shifter. It looked like about every other car Harry had ever seen, but there were a few gauges and buttons he didn't recognize.

"It's a 1966 Corvette," Jon said. "I've had it about a year now; my uncles helped me find one in decent condition and I've been tinkering on it for a while now."

"Is it magic?" Ron wanted to know, his nose against the other window.

"Oh yes," Jon smiled. "Wouldn't be nearly as much fun otherwise."

"How fast will it go?" Harry asked.

"On the ground, I've had it up to about 130 m.p.h.," Jon said. "In the air… well, it's topped out at about 300 m.p.h., but above 250 it begins to vibrate so I usually don't go faster than that."

"_Three_ _hundred_ m.p.h.?" Ron whistled. "I don't think Dad's Anglia would do much above 100, even in the air." He looked in the car again. "But it's only a two-seater! How can we all get to Diagon Alley in that?"

"I'll show you." Jon raised his wand. "_Accio_ keys!" Out of nowhere a set of keys shot through the air and into his hand. He unlocked the driver's side door and pulled the backrest of the driver's seat forward, then stepped in. He seemed to disappear. "Follow me," his voice, coming out of thin air, beckoned them. Harry followed him, imitating his actions.

He sat down in a seat that, looking forward, he saw was just behind the driver's seat. To his right was a space and two more seats, with Jon sitting in the farther one.

"Move over," Jon said, motioning Harry toward him. "So Ron can get in. Come on in, Ron!"

A moment later Ron stepped in and sat in the seat Harry had just vacated. There was a whole section of seats behind the two front ones that couldn't be seen from the outside. There was another seat behind them, a bench-style seat that looked as if it could accommodate four people comfortably. Windows along the side allowed a clear view of the walls of the room they were in. In front of them, the passenger's seat was now much more roomy, easily able to accommodate three or four people side-by-side.

"Very impressive," Harry said, looking around. He really was impressed; this car was as spacious inside as some of the Ministry cars they'd been in were, even though the Ministry cars were far larger on the outside.

"Thanks," Jon said. "I figure with an airspeed of about 250 m.p.h. we should be able to fly to London in about two to two-and-a-half hours or so, depending on the winds."

"One question," Ron said, looking at the wall in front of them. "How d'you get it out of here?"

"The wall ahead will open on command," Jon pointed. "I've got a button on the dashboard that will do it automatically when it's pressed. I put about everything I could think of into this car – it's got an invisibility mode so neither Muggles nor Wizarding folks can see it. It's also been stealthed–"

"What's that mean?" Harry asked.

"It's invisible to radar," Jon explained. "Radar is a scanning technology Muggles use to track flying objects. There's also a detector for GPS, which is a Muggle locating system, so I can know exactly where I am. And it's got an autopilot, so once you're headed in the right direction the car pretty much flies itself."

Most of what Jon was saying was going over Harry's head. There was something, however, he wanted to see. "Let's get out," he said to them. "I've got a question about the brooms."

They clambered out of the back seat and Jon locked the door. The Corvette looked just like a normal car again; you couldn't tell, just by looking at it, that it was anything other than a classic American automobile.

Harry turned to the wall with several broom hanging from it. "Do you fly these?" he asked Jon.

"I used to," Jon said. "My uncles are both into racing brooms. They build and race them in circuits across North America."

"They _build_ racing brooms?" Ron said, sounding impressed. "Wicked!"

"A few of these I recognize," Harry said, pointed to some of the brooms on the wall. There's a Cleansweep Eleven –"

"Same as mine," Ron put in.

"– and that's a Nimbus 2001. And there's a Firebolt. But some of these I don't recognize at all," Harry finished.

"Some of these are what I flew for my uncles when I was racing in the junior circuit," Jon explained. He took one of the brooms down and handed it to Harry, who examined it closely, with Ron watching keenly. It felt as finely balanced as his Firebolt; its shaft, like his broom was of fine, highly polished ash, and the tail twigs were perfectly tied and streamlined.

"How fast will this go?" Harry asked.

"It will accelerate to 150 m.p.h. in about 12 seconds," Jon said. "They built that about the same time the Firebolt came out. They weren't too happy with it, though."

"Huh!" Ron said. "I wonder why – naught to 150 in 12 seconds is pretty ruddy fast!"

"It doesn't handle as well as a Firebolt," Jon said, replacing the broom on the wall. "For Quidditch and other air sports, you need to be able to make tight turns and rapid speed and direction changes. Let me show you one over here." They walked over to one of the countertops where another broom was sitting in a cradle.

"I've been working on this design for a month now." Jon picked up the broom and handed it to Harry, who hefted it experimentally. It felt even lighter than his Firebolt. "I've been working off of the specifications for the Firestar," Jon continued. "The Firestar will do zero to 160 in 12 seconds – this one should do zero to 175 in 10 seconds. It will also brake from 100 m.p.h. to zero in about four seconds."

Ron let out a low whistle. Harry asked, "What about handling?"

"At speed it has a turn radius of 50 feet, though I doubt if anyone could handle the acceleration unaided, so I've got a Levitation Charm that opposes the direction of acceleration. You can turn that on and off, if you want; there are times when you want to feel just how fast you're going, and sometimes you don't."

Ron was looking the broom over closely now, examining the shape of the shaft and tail. "Blimey, Harry," he said, hefting the broom. "Just think what we could do against Slytherin with something like _this_ on our side!"

"It would be sweet," Harry agreed. Even though he wasn't as enthusiastic about Quidditch now as he had been in previous years, it would be very satisfying to outfly Malfoy and the other Slytherins on their Firestars.

"When's your first game this year?" Jon asked.

"We play Hufflepuff the last Saturday of October," Harry said, recalling their schedule.

"How about this, then," Jon proposed. "I can build six more brooms like this one in a few weeks. I have all the raw supplies; it's just a matter of applying the enchantments. By the beginning of October at the latest, you can each have one of these with enough time for a few weeks of practice before your first game."

"That would be excellent!" Ron said excitedly. Another thought brought him up short. "But why would you want to make seven of these brooms just to give them away?" Harry, who had wondered the same thing, waited for Jon's reply.

"I'm looking at it as an investment in my House while here at Hogwarts," Jon said. "If Draco Malfoy's parents can buy seven Firestars for the Slytherin team, I can certainly put in enough time for the Gryffindor team to have a competitive advantage."

Harry nodded. "I can accept that," he said, "In fact, it's a good example for you to set, especially as someone coming in from outside our country. One thing," he added, as Jon smiled at his comments. "I would like to take a turn on one of these brooms before you begin making them, to see how they fly."

"I agree," Jon said readily. "Do you want to try it now?"

"Now?" Harry said, looking around. The room didn't seem nearly large enough to fly a broom in…

But Jon's wand was out and he gestured at the blank wall, which split open to reveal the dank, overgrown garden behind the house. Harry stared through the opening for a moment. "I thought we didn't want to be seen," he objected.

"I was thinking you'd wear your Invisibility Cloak," Jon replied mildly.

"Oh." Feeling faintly sheepish for not thinking of it immediately, especially since he'd flown using the Cloak before, Harry got it out and covered himself, then stepped onto the broom. "I'll be right back," he said, then shot out through the opening and into the air over Hogsmeade.

If Jon had actually made this broom, Harry thought, he'd certainly done a magnificent job of it. The broom responded instantly to his every motion, moving almost as if it could read his thoughts as well as his grip on the handle. Harry zig-zagged back and forth across the sky over the Shack, being careful not to fly too fast so his Invisibility Cloak wouldn't come off. He wished he could do a full-out acceleration, but he didn't want to subject his Cloak to that kind of speed. Wishing he had more freedom to fly, he dove back toward the Shack and into the opening, landing lightly in front of Jon's car.

"How was it?" Ron said as Harry pulled off his Cloak.

"Awesome," Harry said, handing the broom back to Jon.

"Can I have a go?" Ron asked eagerly.

"I think we need to get back to school," Harry said, not wanting to risk having Ron fly the new broom under his Invisibility Cloak. Ron looked frustrated but said nothing. "I'm sure Jon will let you check out the broom on the pitch," Harry said. Ron shrugged as if to say, "Fine."

Closing the opening in the wall with his wand, Jon replaced the broom on the countertop and they exited into the small, dusty dining area, where Jon Vanished the door. They made their way back through the passageway to the Whomping Willow. Harry, going first with Invisibility Cloak on, emerged and immediately hit the knot on the trunk, freezing the Willow. Standing over the roots with the Cloak over him, he waited anxiously as Ron and Jon joined him under it, and they moved off toward the base of Gryffindor Tower through the hidden door at its base, and up the long spiral staircase to the common room.

Since they couldn't see through the secret doorway, getting back into the common room was a bit more difficult. But Harry, used to making sure of what was on the other side of doors before opening them, had thought about that. At the top of the hidden stairway he pulled the Marauder's Map out of one of his robe pockets and activated it while Ron lit his wand and held it up for them to see.

"Wow," Jon said, seeing it for the first time. "Very cool map!"

"Very useful, too," Harry said, examining the common room to see who was there. It was fairly full but no one was near the fireplace. Aiming through the door, Harry cast _Muffliato_ on a few students sitting alone in various chairs so they wouldn't hear the creak of the door when they opened it. Jon touched the door, repeated the words he'd used to open it the first time, and they moved slowly, under the Cloak, through the open door into the common room.

"Let's head for the stairs," Harry said softly, and they moved across the room, avoiding a few students who passed near them as they entered the room through the hole in the wall. Once out of view of the common room, with no one else around, Harry pulled off the cloak and they ran up the stairs to Jon's dorm room, the fifth one up. There was no one else in it at the moment.

"This was Fred and George's dorm room," Ron said as they entered. He walked up to one of the four-poster beds. "This was the one Fred used."

"That one's mine," Jon said, sitting down on the end of the bed and looking down at himself. There were still bits of dirt on his robe; he pulled out his wand and began using it to vacuum them off. Harry and Ron followed suit with their own robes.

"What year are your roommates?" Harry asked as he finished cleaning off his robe.

"Second year," Jon said, sounding a bit rueful. "I never realized boys that age were so interested in rude noises and gross stuff."

"I hear you, mate," Ron said feelingly. "I don't think I've had a conversation with anyone below sixth year yet this term. Not that I want to, either," he added.

"What was the spell you used to open the passageway door?" Harry asked.

"It's '_Sudnallitit mauqnun sneimrod ocārd',_" Jon repeated the words slowly. It makes more sense if you say it backwards, though: '_Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus_' – 'Never tickle a sleeping dragon.'"

Harry laughed. "The Hogwarts motto!"

"I'm going to work on the Charms homework a bit before dinner," Jon said, grabbing his book bag. "Anyone want to join me?"

Harry and Ron got their book bags and joined Jon in the common room. A little while after they sat down Hermione, her last class of the day over, joined them. Ron kept looking at her and Harry could sense it was not in suspicion – he was nearly bursting to tell her what they had seen, but not unless Jon broached the subject first.

Jon, however, was concentrating on his homework and wasn't talking much. He remained mostly silent as well while they ate dinner in the Great Hall. It wasn't until later in the evening, after they were back in the Gryffindor common room, that Ron managed to get Harry and Hermione away by asking for her help in finding a book in the Library. After casting the _Muffliato_ spell at Miss Pince, the librarian, Ron told Hermione of the afternoon's events, with Harry filling in details that Ron glossed over.

"That's pretty amazing," Hermione agreed slowly after Ron had told her about the common room's secret passageway and the shop Jon had set up in the Shrieking Shack. "How could we have missed that secret passageway all this time? How could _Fred and George_ have missed it?"

"That's what I said too!" Ron agreed quickly. "But there it was! We went down through it!"

"He showed you all that stuff in the Shrieking Shack?"

"I even flew on the broom," Harry reminded her. "It was amazing."

"And tomorrow night he's going to have a wizard's duel with Malfoy in the Room of Requirement," Ron added

"I remember," Hermione sniffed. "But is that wise? We know what Malfoy is capable of now."

Ron took the remark wrong. "Maybe you should tell Jon how much you _care_ about him. Maybe that would stop him from going."

Hermione groaned, closing her eyes. Opening them again, she looked hard at Ron. "Maybe when you learn that I can be friends with someone other than _you_, Ron, you'll figure out why I'm concerned," she sighed, then picked up her book bag and hurried out of the Library, leaving Harry looking exasperatedly at Ron.

"What?" Ron said, looking back at him, irritated by Harry's look as well. "She just won't admit how she feels about him!"

"Ron, we don't know what's going to happen tomorrow night, either. Malfoy might beat him. What do we do if he uses something like _Sectumsempra_ on him? When I got Malfoy with it last year, if Snape hadn't been right there, he would've died." And_, come to think of it_, Harry added to himself, _why _had_ Snape been right there, right by the boys' bathroom, when that happened_?

"Well, it's the Room of Requirement, isn't it?" Ron said, reasonably, he must've thought. "If we _need_ something to be there, it will be, right?" Harry had no response for that.

"_Do_ you think he'll beat Malfoy?" Ron asked suddenly.

"I dunno," Harry said. "Jon's obviously smart and good with magic, but Malfoy – he's got something up his sleeve. I just know it," he finished, feeling convinced he was right somehow. "We should be ready for anything tomorrow, from him, or from Crabbe and Goyle."Ron nodded, and by unspoken agreement they grabbed their book bags and left the Library for the common room, where it was already nearly deserted. Neither Jon nor Hermione were there and, their resolve to do more studying rapidly crumbling, Harry and Ron made their way up to their dorm room to turn in for the night, each going over in his head the events of the day.


	16. Crown Versus Malfoy

Chapter 16

**Crown Versus Malfoy**

Finally, the end of the week arrived, and with it the class Harry had been eagerly anticipating: Transfiguration, their first class of the morning. He had liked Tonks since the day he'd first met her, two years ago at his aunt and uncle's house; the Order of the Phoenix had come to collect him – or rescue him, as Harry had thought of it, from them. He coaxed a sleepy Ron out of bed and they got ready for it, the only class they had that day, a double.

At breakfast, as usual by now, Hermione was already there with her copy of the _Daily Prophet_. She greeted Harry, nodded coolly at Ron and went back to reading the paper as they began eating breakfast.

"More information about the Mystery Vault Tournament in the paper this morning," she said casually. "It looks like your brother Bill will have something to do with it, Ron." Ron looked up at once, interested.

"What's it say?" he asked through a mouthful of fried potatoes.

Hermione read from the paper. "Mr. Bill Weasley, a Cursebreaker for Gringotts Wizarding Bank, announced the rules of the upcoming Mystery Vault Tournament in a public statement in the square outside the bank, where the Mystery Vault is now on display. Mr. Weasley, 27, who has been employed with Gringotts Wizarding Bank for the past nine years, was chosen by Chief Goblin Artag to be the referee and judge of the Tournament rounds, which were scheduled to begin the second Saturday of September.

"Rule 1: The decisions of the Judges in the Mystery Vault Tournament shall be final.

"Rule 2: Any _Being_, or _Team_ of Beings, may compete in the Tournament. Every individual Being in a team shall be considered a separate _Competitor_.

"Rule 3: All Competitors in the Tournament shall Register their intention to compete with Bank Tournament Office, and pay a registration fee of 100 Galleons." Ron groaned.

"Rule 4: The Vault shall be deemed _Open_ when the Judge rules that the front door of the Vault is unlocked and any and all beings have clear and unrestricted access to its contents.

"Rule 5: The Tournament shall be deemed _Completed_ when the Judges rule that a Competitor has successfully Opened the Vault; the Competitor(s) that Opens the Vault shall be deemed the _Winner(s)_ of the Tournament. Each Winner shall have an equal share of the contents of the Vault, less a Five (5) percent Finder's Fee payable to the Bank.

"Rule 6: All registration fees become the sole and perpetual property of Gringotts Wizarding Bank, and all claims or demands of the Vault's contents, except those of the Winner, are considered null and void when the Tournament is Completed.

"Blimey, they sure like making rules, don't they?" Ron whispered to Harry, who grinned.

"Rule 7: Competitors shall Compete in the order of registration, which shall be announced immediately before their competition Period. Each Competitor shall be assigned a Period of 30 minutes in which they may attempt to Open the Vault. A Competitor that Waives their 30 minute period will be rotated to the end of the current list of Competitors; they may Compete or Waive their period. A Competitor that Competes but fails to open the Vault is removed from the list.

"Rule 8: The Bank reserves the right to refuse Registration to any potential Competitor for any cause, or to refund the registration fee in lieu of allowing the Competitor to participate in the Tournament."

"Ha!" Ron said under his breath. "Fat chance of that lot giving back gold once they've got it."

Harry could see, looking around the Great Hall, that other people were reading the _Prophet_ article as well. The place was buzzing with conversation. As he looked along the Gryffindor table, he saw Ginny and Jon leaning over a copy of the paper together. Ginny glanced up, saw Harry, and waved. Jon looked up a moment later and waved as well. Harry nodded, not liking the feeling that clutched at his chest whenever he saw Ginny with Jon.

Harry glanced at the High Table, hoping Tonks was there, but she had not appeared for breakfast, lunch or dinner yet this week. Ginny, who'd already attended one of Tonk's Transfiguration classes, absolutely loved her teaching style, even though Tonks herself seemed to think she wasn't a very good teacher.

Next to him, Ron and Hermione were beginning to bicker over the rules of the Tournament. Not wanting to hear any of it, nor wanting to watch Jon and Ginny reading the paper together, Harry grabbed a piece of toast and his book bag and stood, leaving the rest of his breakfast unfinished. "Oi! Harry!" Ron said as he jumped up from the table. "Where're you headed?"

"Forgot something!" Harry lied. "See you in Transfiguration class!" He raced out into the entrance hall, then slowed to a brisk walk. He made his way to the Transfiguration classroom, intending to sit and brood in silence until Tonks or his classmates showed up.

As he entered the classroom, however, he was surprised to find it already occupied, coincidentally by the very person he'd been looking for earlier. Nymphadora Tonks looked up from the book she was bent over, equally surprised. She looked older than Harry remembered her, with her hair now a dark brown and pulled back in a bun reminiscent of Professor McGonagall's. The lines of her face were thinner and harder now, also like McGonagall's. In fact, except for a pair of glasses, Tonks now resembled a youthful version of the Headmistress.

"Sorry," Harry said awkwardly. "Didn't mean to surprise you."

"Wotcher, Harry," Tonks said with a smile. "Just getting ready for my first seventh-year class." She seemed as glad for the interruption, though, as he was to see her. He walked up to her desk. "Haven't seen you in a while," she said, looking him over. "How are you getting on?"

"Okay," Harry shrugged. "I've been looking for you at the High Table, but you haven't been down to breakfast yet this year."

"No," Tonks said, looking away. "I've been busy with – this," she finished, waving at the pile of books and folders full of parchment scrolls on her desk. "I'm almost sorry now I gave my teachers such a hard time in school – I never realized how much hard work goes into teaching a class. Much less teaching seven different years of it!" she added ruefully.

"Why did you give up being an Auror?" Harry asked. The question popped out of him without conscious thought. It also brought Tonks up short. She stared at him for a long moment, clearly weighing what to say.

"It was just time for a change, I reckon," she said finally. "I don't know if I can explain any better than that for now, though."

"Okay," Harry said simply.

"Then this thing came up to teach at Hogwarts, and McGonagall needed me here, so here I am," she added, giving him a smile that Harry felt for some reason was forced.

"One thing I _do_ regret, though," she said softly, leaning toward Harry, "is that I was originally going to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, not Transfiguration. But Snape was cleared of the charges against him, so –"

"How'd that happen, anyway?" Harry cut over her, anxious to know what had happened.

Tonks stole a glance toward the classroom door, then looked back at Harry, her expression serious. "It's a bad business, Harry. Bad. They tried every spell they could think of on that letter, but every one of them said that Dumbledore wrote it of his own free will. No Imperius Curse, no Transliteration Charm, nothing at all out of the ordinary, except that some of us don't think Dumbledore could have written such a thing while in his own mind."

"I wondered about it, too," Harry said honestly. "Snape had to have forced Dumbledore, somehow."

"About the only thing that makes any kind of sense is that Snape just outfoxed Dumbledore, plain and simple," Tonks said plaintively.

"I don't buy that," Harry said in flat refusal. "He was onto Malfoy's plotting for almost the entire school year. He even _said_ he didn't expose Malfoy so Voldemort wouldn't have a reason to kill him or his family. I just can't believe he could be fooled so completely!"

"I can't either," Tonks agreed. Her attention shifted to the corridor for a few seconds. She turned back to Harry and said, "I hear other students coming. Why don't you take a seat and we'll try to continue this discussion sometime later?"

Harry hurried to a desk and Tonks went back to her reading. A few moments later a group of seventh-years filed into the room, including Ron, Hermione, Jon, and a few Ravenclaw students, including Deirdre Recaunt.

"Where'd you go?" Ron said as he sat next to Harry, as usual in Transfiguration class.

"Forgot my book," Harry said glibly, wishing he didn't have to continue lying. "Plus I didn't feel like sticking around listening to you and Hermione argue," he added quietly, so Hermione, on the other side of Ron, couldn't hear. Ron looked at him, reproachful, but didn't argue.

Still looking in Ron's direction, Harry noticed that Jon had sat next to Deirdre and was talking quietly to her. Hermione looked in their direction as well and Harry saw her gaze linger on them for several seconds before turning back to the front of class.

The class was almost full. At the last moment, Malfoy slouched in, alone, and sat near the back of the class at a desk by himself.

"Good morning, everyone," Tonks began with a friendly, yet business-like, smile. "I hope you're all ready for your final year of N.E.W.T.-level training. You're going to find it an interesting one: we'll be looking at the different levels of Conjuration magic, at special types of Transfiguration magic such as Animagi and transubstantiation magic, and – Mr. Malfoy, is there a problem?"

Everyone turned to look back at Malfoy, who had evidently fallen asleep leaning on his elbow and now, startled, bolted upright. "Er – no, no problem here," he said, sounding bored.

"Let's try to stay awake then, shall we?" Tonks said pleasantly. She continued describing the subjects the class would cover that year; Harry, stealing a glance back toward Malfoy, saw him looking darkly at her, his eyes brooding. He caught Harry looking his way and pointed at his eyes with two fingers, then at Harry's, as if to say, "I see you, Potter." Harry turned away.

Tonks began then lesson, and Harry could see why Ginny liked her as a teacher. She was an engaging instructor, speaking easily and explaining her points well, giving clear examples and performing simple enchantments to illustrate them.

Halfway through the double class she had everyone pair off to work their practicals. Harry, as usual, paired off with Ron. Hermione looked around for a partner; as it turned out everyone had already paired off except Malfoy. "Mr. Malfoy," Tonks gestured for him to come to the front. "You can pair with Miss Granger." Both Ron and Harry tensed up, sensing disaster brewing.

"Sorry, Professor," Malfoy drawled. "I don't pair up with Mudbloods." Several students around Malfoy gasped at his rudeness.

"That slimy git," Ron muttered, his wand out and ready. "He's just asking for it."

"Tonks can handle it," Harry said in a low voice.

Tonks hadn't reacted immediately to Malfoy's slur. "Ten points from Slytherin for language, Mr. Malfoy," she said briskly. "Come up front, please." Malfoy slunk sullenly to the front of class.

"Since you're not happy with Miss Granger as a partner, let's see if we can find someone a bit more to your taste," Tonks said, pretending to look over the class. "Harry," she said. "How about you? Hermione can partner with Mr. Weasley."

Harry didn't much care for the idea, but he was smiling inwardly at the look of loathing on Malfoy's face.

Tonks saw Malfoy's look as well. "No?" she asked solicitously. "Mr. Potter's not acceptable either?" Her smile hardened. "Well, it's either partner with him or lose 20 more points for Slytherin, and detention this weekend to boot. Your choice, Mr. Malfoy, but make it quick and stop wasting everyone's time."

Malfoy looked at her resentfully, then moved slowly around to the far end of the desk, to avoid walking past Hermione or Ron, who budged over to make room for Harry and Malfoy.

"Splendid!" Tonks said cheerfully, as if she and Malfoy had just become fast friends. "Now, let's start your Conjuration practicals."

The practical was to Conjure and Vanish a list of objects they had transfigured from previous years in Transfiguration. The list became more complex the further down it went. One student Conjured the object, the other student Vanished it. Then they switched. For this lesson the objects were fairly simple: pins, buttons, a quill, ink bottle, goblets, a fork. There wasn't anything on the list Harry felt he couldn't handle.

Malfoy, however, kept insisting that Harry Conjure the object first, then he would Vanish and Conjure it back for Harry to Vanish. About the time they got to the button, Harry cottoned on that Malfoy was simply casting a Disillusionment Charm on the object to make it appear to Vanish, then removed the charm so it seemed as if he'd Conjured it.

"Been skiving off your reading assignments?" Harry said in a low voice. "Conjuration spellwork a bit too rough to follow, is it?"

"Mind your tongue, Potter," Malfoy hissed. "It's bad enough having to _stand_ this close to you, never mind having to help you with your schoolwork."

"Too bad your bodyguards aren't here to help you," Harry taunted him. "You gave them a lot of tutoring in Potions last year – how many little girls _did_ you have them turn into, anyway?"

"Watch what you say about my friends," Malfoy snarled.

"I guess I should," Harry pressed. "They're the only two you have left, aren't they? Everyone else in your House thinks you're a weasel – or should I say – a ferret?"

Malfoy's face turned red, from embarrassment or anger, Harry wasn't sure. His wand was shaking, and Harry was prepared to disarm him, when Tonks appeared in front of them. "How's it going, gentlemen?"

"Fine," said Harry shortly.

"Great," Malfoy spat.

"Wonderful, glad to hear it," Tonks said blandly. "So tell me, Mr. Malfoy – _why_ is there a Disillusioned quill in front of you?"

"I – er –" Malfoy began.

"Nevermind," Tonks cut him off. She waved her wand and the quill appeared in front of them. With another wave of her wand it Vanished, this time for real. "Conjure me a new quill, Mr. Malfoy," she ordered.

Malfoy glared at Harry for a moment, furious for being caught out; then, concentrating mightily, he waved his wand at the empty desk in front of him. There was a soft _crack_ and a single, dreadful-looking pinfeather appeared.

Looking at the feather, Tonks observed, "Needs a little work, doesn't it?"

"Potter's been taunting me," Malfoy said angrily. "Making fun of my work! It's no wonder I can't concentrate with _him_ as my partner!"

Tonks did no more than glance at the look of shock and anger on Harry's face before saying, "Ten more points from Slytherin for telling porkies, Mr. Malfoy."

"I'm not lying!" Malfoy shouted. "You're just showing favoritism to him because he was supposed to be _somebody_ all those years!" He looked right at Harry. "And now you're _nobody_," he said viciously.

"Right, that's detention, then," Tonks said, finally having had enough. "Report to my office this Saturday and Sunday at 10 a.m., Malfoy."

"No! I've got to go to – I've got to be somewhere!" Malfoy said, incensed.

"Yes, you do," Tonks agreed. "You've got to be in my office, or answer to the Headmistress. Now go take your seat."

Malfoy stood there, red-faced, looking ready to explode, but Tonks stared him down. He finally turned and stomped back to his desk at the back of the room, where he was silent for the rest of the period. When Tonks dismissed the class he grabbed his book bag and bolted from the room.

Later, in the Gryffindor common room, Ron was still chortling after listening to Harry recount his conversation with Malfoy. "I still remember when Moody turned him into that ferret," Ron said, his sides shaking with laughter.

"The _fake_ Moody, you mean," Harry reminded him.

"Right, but who cares?"

"At least he was punished this time for using language like that," Hermione said. "I'm used to it, but it was nice to see something done, for once."

"Yes, Tonks did alright for our first class," Ron agreed. "Now Malfoy's got it coming tonight and this weekend too."

"I don't know why you're looking forward so much to that wizards' duel between him and Jon," Hermione sniffed.

"Mainly because Malfoy's a slimy git," Ron said.

"Well, besides that, I mean," Hermione shrugged. Harry chuckled.

At that moment there was a thumping sound from the opening to the common room; someone was banging on the portrait of the Fat Lady, or the wall, outside. Harry could hear someone who sounded a lot like Crabbe shouting "Jonathan Crown! Come out!"

Harry, Ron and Hermione stared at each other for several moments. Nobody in the common room had moved; Harry couldn't remember anyone trying to get into the Gryffindor common room since his godfather, Sirius Black, had tried to break in during Harry's third year at Hogwarts.

"Well, don't just sit there like great lumps!" A hysterical Fat Lady had appeared in a portrait hanging near the entrance, jostling the witch who'd been sitting there napping. "Someone get out there and stop that, that troll, from breaking my frame!"

Harry and Ron both jumped up and ran to the entrance. "Stop banging on the portrait!" Harry yelled.

"Tell Crown to come out!" Crabbe yelled back.

"He's not here!" Harry shouted.

There was silence for a few moments. Then, "Potter, is that you?"

"Yeah, who'd ya think it was, Voldemort?!"

There was a long period of silence. Harry smiled to himself, expecting that Crabbe and whoever was with him had winced at Voldemort's name. Finally, Crabbe said in a threatening tone, "Potter, just get your great prat out here, now!"

Harry drew his wand and pushed the portrait open, followed closely by Ron, who'd drawn his as well. Crabbe, and as expected, Goyle, were standing on the other side, glowering at them.

Both of them, Harry noticed, were looking somewhat the worse for wear: Crabbe had a black eye and fat lip, and Goyle's trollish face had several good-sized bruises on it.

"What's up with you two?" Harry said aggressively, hoping to throw them off-balance and keep the initiative with him and Ron. "You look like you both lost a fight. Malfoy been slapping you around or what?"

"Just never you mind who's been slapping us around!" Goyle snarled, then said "Ow!" as Crabbe elbowed him in the side.

"Shut it, you lump," Crabbe said roughly. "He said let me do the talking."

Harry filed those responses away for further thought later; no wonder "he" (probably Malfoy) had told Goyle not to talk – he'd just given away some interesting information.

"Are you two gonna be Crown's Seconds?" Crabbe demanded.

"Yeah, we are!" Ron answered.

"Malfoy says he'll meet Crown at the time and place on this," Crabbe said, holding up a scrap of parchment. He held it out for Harry to take, but Harry, with a flick of his wand, levitated it out of Crabbe's hand and into his own.

"Malfoy says, if Crown don't show it proves he's just a great chicken who can't back up what he says," Crabbe continued in a loud voice, speaking as though from memory.

"Yeah, chicken!" Goyle added, looking at Crabbe, who nodded. Then, to Harry and Ron's great amusement, they began flapping their arms and making chicken noises. "Chicken! Chicken! Bawk! Bawk! Bawk!!" Both of them continued this for several seconds. Harry felt Ron's hand on his arm, trying to keep himself from falling over. Somehow, Harry managed to keep a straight face until both Slytherins stopped clucking and flapping their arms.

Harry and Ron were both shaking with silent laughter, their faces about to burst. Crabbe was apparently rethinking the wisdom of making such a taunt; he tried to look menacing and said, "If Crown or you get any ideas about backing out, remember that!" He pointed behind Harry and Ron. "And that goes for you, too!" Rubbing their knuckles and chuckling trollishly, the two turned and disappeared down the corridor.

Harry and Ron turned, expecting to see Hermione, but instead there stood Colin Creevy with his ever-present camera.

"Oh, Colin," Ron said, almost like a prayer, "tell me you took a picture of them doing… _that_," Ron flapped his arms as they'd been doing.

"Yeah, a couple," Colin said, looking a bit nervous. "When I heard someone pounding on the picture of the Fat Lady I ran and got my camera – I thought maybe Sirius Black was back, or something."

Ron pointed at Colin's camera. "Whatever you do, Colin, _don't lose those pictures_!"

At lunch Harry, Ron and Hermione caught up with Jon and gave him Malfoy's note. Jon sat down with them and unfolded it to read:

_Crown –  
On the 7th floor where the wall hanging of the idiot trying to teach trolls how  
to dance, at 10 p.m. We'll see who's the better wizard then._

He also enjoyed Harry and Ron's attempt to tell him about the confrontation with Crabbe and Goyle outside the Gryffindor common room; they took quite some time doing it, because Ron kept bursting out laughing as he tried to tell the story, and Harry wasn't much more successful at it than he was. Soon everyone nearby was laughing, either at the story or at Ron and Harry's attempts to tell it.

Over at the Slytherin table, Crabbe, Goyle and Malfoy, sitting apart, were glaring balefully at the Gryffindor table. The other Slytherins were either ignoring them or having their own laughs about the three. Ginny had been right, it seemed; none of them was in good standing with the other Slytherins at the moment.

The merriment at the Gryffindor table was beginning to die down. "So what was the note about, then?" Seamus Finnigan asked. Harry and Ron had carefully avoided mentioning the contents of the note, hoping no one would ask after it.

"It's just Malfoy trying to rile me up saying he's a better wizard than me," Jon said idly. "But he can't even perform a simple Conjuration spell yet, so I'm not taking him too seriously."

"That oughta be funny," Seamus said, holding out his hand. "Let's see the note, then."

"Sorry, I already Vanished it," Jon said with a shrug of his shoulders. "I didn't think anyone would care to read Malfoy's rantings."

Disappointed, Seamus drifted away. Ron, Harry, and Jon started lunch. Hermione had already gotten herself a salad and was starting it as well when another figure approached them and said quietly, "Hello, Jonathan."

Jon looked up. It was Deirdre Recaunt. "I just wanted to thank you," she said with a shy smile, "for the help you gave me during Transfiguration class, and afterwards, for explaining things to me."

"You're welcome, Deirdre," Jon said. "I'm glad to help you in any way I can."

"Professor McGonagall had warned me that seventh-year Transfiguration was a difficult class, but I wanted to try it anyway," Deirdre continued.

"You did fine in class," Jon smiled. "Professor Tonks just has a lot to cover this year, I'm sure she wanted to get a jump on the material she has to go through." Jon pointed to an empty seat nearby. "Do you want to have lunch with us?"

Deirdre looked at the chair, clearly wanting to sit there, but said, "I'm not very hungry right now, but perhaps later, at dinner…?"

"That would be nice," Jon said.

"Thank you," she said again. "I hope I can call upon you for more help in class, I know I'm going to need it."

"Yes, anytime."

"Thank you. Bye!" Deirdre turned and walked back toward the Ravenclaw table.

Ron stared after her as she left. "I wonder why she asked you instead of one of the Ravenclaw seventh-years?" He wondered aloud.

"Probably because she knows the best when she sees it, _mate_," Jon said, giving Ron a smug smile. There were several teasing jeers from the table, including Harry and Ron. Harry noticed that Hermione wasn't smiling; she hadn't, not even once, since Deirdre had come over to talk to Jon.

That evening, Harry, Ron and Jon met in the common room about an hour before the appointed time with Malfoy to discuss strategy. And, Harry added to himself, to see if Jon really wanted to go through with it. He had more than proven his ability to Harry; proving it to Malfoy was irrelevant. Jon, however, was adamant about going.

"In Texas," he said, "we don't like to back down from a challenge. I accepted Malfoy's and I'll show up to defend myself against his claims. He might back down. If not, well, I do have a hankerin' to clean his clock for him."

"He tried something like this before," Harry pointed out. "He challenged me to a duel during our first year."

"But instead of showing up, he sicced Filch the caretaker onto us," Ron continued, a dark look on his face. "We had the devil's own time trying to get back to the common room – chased by Filch's cat Mrs. Norris – and Peeves snitching on us…"

"And we met Fluffy that night, too," Harry said ruefully, remembering.

"Another cat?" Jon guessed.

"Nooo…" Ron rolled his eyes. "The biggest, meanest three-headed dog you'd ever hope to meet."

"_Three-headed_?" Jon said in wonderment. "A hellhound?"

"Yeah," Harry said dryly. "He was Hagrid's pet. Hagrid's our groundskeeper," he added. "And the Care of Magical Creatures teacher."

"Do you think Malfoy will try that trick again?" Jon asked, in a way that suggested he clearly didn't think so.

"No, probably not," Harry said. "But I expect him to have _something_ up his sleeve. He'll always look for an advantage if he can get one."

"And our advantage is, we're going under your Invisibility Cloak and with your Map," Jon said in a low voice, so no one else in the room would overhear.

"Right," Harry said. "It'll tell us if anyone other than those three are about."

Finally, a few minutes before 10 p.m., making sure that no one was looking in their direction, Harry got out the Invisibility Cloak and he, Ron and Jon got underneath it. They moved slowly to the entrance and pushed open the Fat Lady's portrait, then moved off down the corridor toward the tapestry of Gregory the Barmy.

Approaching slowly, they halted some distance away. Harry got out the Map, tapped it with his wand and muttered, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." Instantly the Map filled in the drawing of the castle and grounds, showing the various clumps of labeled dots that were its students and staff. Looking ahead of their position on the Map, Harry pointed to the dots labeled "Draco Malfoy," "Vincent Crabbe" and "Gregory Goyle" moving aimlessly ahead of them. They scanned nearby corridors. "Looks like the coast is clear," Harry whispered.

He tapped the map, muttering "Mischief managed," and put the now-blank parchment away, then pulled the Cloak off them, folded it and stuffed it into his robe and straightened it. Then he and Ron, led by Jon, walked down the corridor to meet the three Slytherins.

"Well, well, look who's showed up," Malfoy sneered as the three Gryffindors came into view. "Thought you'd chicken out."

Jon smiled while Harry and Ron chortled outright. Crabbe and Goyle reddened, then both cracked their knuckles threateningly.

"Well looky here," Jon said, affecting a southern Texas drawl. "If'n it hain't Moe, Larry and Curly, together agin." He was looking at Crabbe's soupbowl haircut and grinning.

"What?" Malfoy said, bewildered but irritated at being mocked. Harry and Ron glanced at each other as well; they had no idea what Jon meant, either.

"Never mind," Jon said with a chuckle. "You just reminded me of three very well-known Americans from a long time ago."

"Are you ready to fight, or not?" Malfoy demanded angrily.

"Whenever you are," Jon shrugged.

"Prove it, then," Malfoy said. "Make the Room of Requirement appear."

"That's a load of dung!" Ron said hotly. "You wanted this location, Malfoy – _you_ make the Room appear!"

"_He_ accepted the challenge, Weasley," Malfoy sneered. "He needs to prove he really wants to fight me. So _if_ he can make the Room appear, it will prove that."

Jon turned to Harry and said quietly, "You said you've been in this room before, Harry – what do I have to do to get it to appear?"

"You walk by this section of the wall," Harry pointed at a blank spot opposite the tapestry showing Barnabas the Barmy trying to teach trolls ballet. "Concentrate hard on what you need. If your need is sufficient, a door to the Room of Requirement will appear."

"Alright," Jon said. He paced back in front of the wall several times, appearing lost in thought. But nothing happened. After he'd tried several times, Malfoy chuckled nastily.

"Looks like you don't _really_ want to fight me, Crown," he said smugly. "Just as I thought – chicken!" Crabbe and Goyle started to flap their arms, but Malfoy hissed "Stop it!" and they froze in mid-flap. Harry and Ron snickered.

"We'll just see who wants to fight, Blondie," Jon drawled. "Step back – gimme some room to operate." Taking a deep breath, he walked slowly and determinedly back and forth along the corridor, deep in concentration.

As he turned and paced for the third time, a heavy oaken door appeared in the blank wall. "HA!" Ron crowed. "You did it!"

Harry looked at Malfoy, expecting to see him worried by the room's appearance, but Malfoy had a subtle look of triumph on his face. It disappeared even as Harry looked, replaced with an emotionless mask.

Jon pulled on the large brass handle. The door opened slowly, creaking, and he stepped in, followed by Malfoy, then Crabbe and Goyle, and lastly Ron and Harry, who pulled it shut behind them, knowing that it would disappear from the corridor once closed, but would still be visible on their side.

The room that had appeared was square and expansive, equipped for a duel. There was a large mat on the stone floor, with tables at opposite ends. Harry examined some of the items on one of the tables: there were towels, a small hourglass timer, some jars of yellow paste like the stuff Fred and George used to treat bruises and such, and a tube of ointment labeled "Professor Bonebrake's Ache-Away." A few chairs stood were scattered along the walls of the room.

Malfoy and his crew had stopped at the nearer table; Jon, Harry and Ron walked across the mat to the farther one. Once on the far side of the mat, Harry motioned for Jon to lean in closer and said in a low tone, "Malfoy was smiling when we walked in here; I'd be careful if I were you."

"I'll be careful," Jon agreed, "but he's not going to get off easy. I've been waiting all week to kick his butt. Let's go, Harry."

Jon and Harry stepped back onto the mat and approached the middle; Jon's wand was drawn. "Well, Malfoy, here we are at last," Jon said evenly. Are you ready to cross wands or not?"

Malfoy smiled triumphantly and swaggered up to Jon. His own wand wasn't drawn. "Who said anything about using wands?"

Jon frowned. "You did. You wanted a wizard's duel, remember?"

"I wanted a _duel_," Malfoy drawled, raising both hands and making them into fists. "I'm the one who challenged you and I get to say what weapons we use. I want to use bare fists."

"What?" Harry said, gaping at him. He and Ron looked at each other in shock. Malfoy, wanting a _fistfight_? That didn't seem logical or even reasonable, given what they knew about Malfoy.

"What are you playing at, Malfoy?" Harry demanded, stepping up to stand between him and Jon. "We thought you wanted a wizard's duel."

"I never said, '_wizards'_ duel,' " Malfoy pointed out. "I asked if Crown wanted to 'duel.' You just _assumed_ that meant a wizard's duel."

"What else should we assume – you couldn't even beat up a girl unless Crabbe and Goyle were holding her for you!" Ron taunted him. "I thought you were going to cry when Hermione hit you that time!"

"Never mind that," Malfoy said dismissively. "Right now the question is, is Crown going to fight me man-to-man, or is he chi– is he afraid?" he finished with a baleful glance at Crabbe and Goyle.

"Let's do it," Jon said simply.

"All right, then," Malfoy said, smirking, and both he and Jon returned to their respective corners. Malfoy pulled off his school robe, revealing a pair of black, silken trousers, a sleeveless T-shirt and white trainers. Harry saw that Malfoy's build was nothing like the thin, drawn scarecrow he'd been last spring before school ended; he was now much more muscular. _How_ could Malfoy have built himself up so much in just a few months, Harry wondered. It had taken his cousin Dudley several years of dieting and training to go from obese to merely stout. Of course, the answer had to be – _magic_.

Jon removed his own robe, revealing a pair of blue jeans and a white T-shirt. He was wearing a pair of trainers similar to Malfoy's. His body was rather softer and thicker, however; once again Harry was reminded of Neville Longbottom. "Are you sure you want to go through with this?" he whispered to Jon, concerned at what Malfoy might do. The Slytherin looked like he could tear Jon apart.

"Don't worry, Harry," Jon said softly, watching Malfoy warming up by running in place and shadow boxing. "I've been in a few fights, myself, back in Texas. "I'm curious now to see what he can do."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Harry said, worried, watching Jon stretch and shake himself out.

"Right, let's do this!" Malfoy said loudly. "The rules are, we fight until one of us either concedes defeat or is knocked unconscious. Each of us can call for a timeout once during the match. When time is called, one of the seconds will turn the timer; if you're not ready to fight when the timer runs out you forfeit the match. You got that?"

"Got it," Jon said calmly.

"Then let's go!" Malfoy said, stepping out onto the mat and assuming a fighting stance, facing Jon. It was utterly strange to watch Malfoy behave like this, Harry thought. He moved around Jon, who pivoted to keep his guard facing the Slytherin. Crabbe and Goyle were shouting from their corner, taunting Jon and telling Malfoy to hit him, that Jon was going down, and other unpleasant comments.

Malfoy began throwing punches. Some of them were feints, trying to size up Jon's reactions, while a few looked in earnest, but Jon was holding his own, keeping distance between them, backing away from Malfoy's punches. Finally, though, one of Malfoy's fists tagged Jon along the side of his chin, staggering him for moment; Jon raised his hand and the bottom of Malfoy's foot came up hard into Jon's abdomen. Jon gasped and fell to his knees. Crabbe and Goyle cheered, while Harry and Ron groaned.

"Good one," Jon commented, regaining his feet with a grunt of pain. "Now, let's see what else you've got." He came at Malfoy with short straight punches that Malfoy backed away from, jabbing to hold Jon off, then suddenly jumped into the air in a spinning back kick that Jon narrowly avoided.

Neither Harry nor Ron could believe it. "Are we even sure that's really Malfoy?" Ron said, incredulous at his display of fighting prowess.

"Dunno," Harry said shortly. "Won't make much difference who he is, though, unless Jon can hold him off."

"But can he _beat_ him?" Ron wondered anxiously. "Malfoy looks out for blood."

Malfoy _was_ out for blood, pressing a vicious attack of jabs and swings, with kicks towards Jon's legs and midsection that Jon seemed to be only barely avoiding as he dodged and weaved around the mat. After about a minute of pursuing Jon, Malfoy stopped, breathing heavily, and said, "Come on, Crown! Stand and fight like a man instead of running away!"

"I haven't run yet, Blondie," Jon said mildly. "Just letting you show us your stuff." He went into a fighting crouch similar to Malfoy's. "But if you really want a fight, then come and get some!"

Jon moved in, bouncing on the balls of his feet, and tagged Malfoy on the side of his face, dancing back out of the Slytherin's longer reach when Malfoy tried to counterpunch. He did this a couple more times, seemingly at will, as Malfoy swung desperately, trying to connect. The next time Jon moved in, a bit too slowly, Malfoy's arms came up, blocking his oncoming fist, only to discover it was a feint for a hard sidekick from Jon's right foot that lifted Malfoy off the mat and dropped him on his back a half-dozen feet away.

Both Harry and Ron whooped at seeing Malfoy so unceremoniously dropped. Crabbe and Goyle were urging Malfoy to his feet, and Malfoy stood, glaring murderously at Jon. He rushed forward, arms outstretch to grapple with the American, who fell away, rolling onto his back so that Malfoy ran right into his legs, and Jon thrust him, flailing, into the air, so that he landed on his back in the far corner, in front of Harry and Ron.

They both regained their feet instantly, however, and Malfoy rushed in again, this time successfully grabbing Jon as he tried to wrestle him to the mat. One of Malfoy's legs swept Jon's out from under him and they both went down, using knees and elbows to inflict punishment. Here it looked as if Malfoy's new muscles gave him the upper hand; he was pressing his forearm into Jon's throat, choking him. Jon was trying to apply pressure to the arm, to throw Malfoy off. Crabbe and Goyle were calling for a "sleeper hold," whatever that was.

Suddenly Jon reversed the hold, locking one of Malfoy's arms with his own and immobilizing the other with a half-nelson. Malfoy tried to scuttle away but his legs couldn't get enough purchase against the mat to be effective. Jon put an arm around Malfoy's neck and began to apply pressure…

Malfoy was nearly passed out when Crabbe and Goyle suddenly rushed onto the mat. They'd almost reached the pair by the time Harry and Ron reacted and rushed forward as well. Goyle grabbed Jon and pinned his arms in a bear hug, chest to chest with him. Jon struggled for a moment against Goyle's brutish strength, then slammed his forehead into Goyle's nose. Harry heard it snap as he moved toward them. Goyle howled in pain and grabbed his face, backing away, blood flowing between his fingers and dripping onto his robe.

Ron was rushing toward Crabbe, who had pulled a dazed Malfoy to his feet. Crabbe drew his wand and pointed it at Ron, who stopped short. Malfoy, enraged, pushed Crabbe's wand aside and stepped up to Ron, hitting him three times in the face and chest. Ron dropped like a sack of potatoes.

Malfoy turned to Crabbe and said, "Go!" Crabbe turned and ran toward the door, yanked it open, and fled. Malfoy turned back to Ron, now curled around his middle, moaning, but at that moment Jon stepped up and swung hard, catching Malfoy in the side of the face, sending him staggering backwards.

Goyle was going for his wand, but it had barely cleared his robe before Harry pointed his own wand and shouted "_Expelliarmus_!" sending Goyle's flying into a corner. Disarmed, Goyle froze, leaving only Jon and Malfoy still fighting. The "duel" had turned into an all-out brawl.

Still enraged, Malfoy was swinging wildly at Jon, who was evading his fists until Malfoy left himself too open: Jon stepped around Malfoy's flailing arms and sank a fist into his stomach, doubling Malfoy over. Jon pushed him upright with one hand then simply slapped him hard, open-palm, across the face. Malfoy's face registered shock, then pain as Jon slapped him again with the other hand. He tried to duck away from Jon's last blow, overbalanced, and fell to the ground.

Goyle, seeing this, dashed to the corner, picked up his wand, and ran out the door. Harry watched him leave, his wand pointed at toward the Slytherin until the door slammed shut behind him. He then went over to where Ron was slowly trying to regain his feet, one hand on his jaw, the other pressing tenderly holding his ribs

Jon stood over Malfoy, who was glaring up at him, his face crimson from Jon's slaps. "Ready to call it an evening, Draco?" he asked. When Malfoy said nothing, Jon went on. "I suppose your buddies Crabbe and Goyle are off calling the cavalry to come to your rescue. We'll be on our way, then. Just remember this, Malfoy: In the future, don't mistake my disinterest in kicking your butt for an inability to do so. You and your pals steer clear of me and everything will be cool. You got that?" Malfoy didn't move or respond; he just continued to glare at Jon, who turned away, walked over and picked up his robe, shrugging into it as he walked back to Harry and Ron.

"We'd better take off," Jon said. "Crabbe and Goyle are probably bringing help."

"Yeah but – ow – nobody in Slytherin wants anything to do with them anymore," Ron said, grunting as they started walking toward the door.

"A teacher, or their Head of House might," Jon said. "That's Snape, isn't it?"

Harry turned quickly to look at Malfoy, who was still sitting on the floor, rubbing his face, but with a cold smile now on his lips, as if things were going exactly the way he wanted them. "Yeah, it's Snape," he said, glaring at Malfoy. Malfoy winked at him and made a small kiss in the air.

"Yeah, we better get going," Harry agreed. He and Jon each took one of Ron's arms and they walked briskly to the door, opened it, and went out into the corridor. The corridor was empty and Harry quickly got out the Invisibility Cloak; they got underneath it and moved as quickly as they could to the first corridor intersection.

Harry pulled out the Marauder's Map, activated it, and carefully scanned the corridors between where they were and the Gryffindor common room. They were clear. He checked other areas of the map. "Here's Crabbe," he said, locating his dot on the map. "He's in Snape's office, "but I don't see Snape there. And Goyle…" Harry smiled grimly. "Goyle's in the infirmary. Okay, let's get back to the common room." They started slowly down the corridor. Harry continued to check the Map to see if Snape was heading their way. But something was wrong with his eyes – they kept blurring and watering as he looked for the figure labeled "Severus Snape" on the Map. What the hell was wrong with him?

Soon, nearing the entrance to the common room, Harry examined the Map once again. Inexplicably, Crabbe was still in Snape's office; he hadn't moved since Harry first saw him there. Beside him, Ron grunted in pain and Jon asked him, "Are you doing okay, Ron?"

"Fine," Ron said through gritted teeth. "Malfoy just caught me a good one, feels like he bruised a rib."

"We can fix it once we're inside the common room," Harry said. "I think I've got something –"

Suddenly the Invisibility Cloak was yanked away, revealing the three of them only feet from the Fat Lady's portrait. She was half asleep in her chair, but at the sudden motion she bolted upright, exclaiming, "Oh, my word!"

The three of them spun around to find, to Harry's horror, Professor Severus Snape standing there holding Harry's Invisibility Cloak. Where had he come from? Harry thought wildly. There had been no one around them just moments before –

"Well, well," Snape said, a thin smile creasing his sallow features, "Look who's been skulking about the school corridors again, as if he owned the place." Snape glanced at Jon, then said, "Potter, can't you and Weasley find anything better to do than corrupt visiting students?" Harry said nothing, hardly daring to think, much less to speak, so great was his rage at Snape.

"Good evening, Professor," Jon said courteously. "They were just taking me for a little tour of some of the finer points of interest in Hogwarts Castle."

"Indeed? Wouldn't it be easier to have a tour without wandering around under Potter's Invisibility Cloak?" Snape said, his tone dripping sarcasm.

"Well, I've never seen one before, and it was an added treat to see how it worked," Jon said smoothly.

"It's a bit late for touring the castle," Snape sneered, "with or without an Invisibility Cloak."

"I believe our curfew on Friday nights is 11 p.m., Professor," Jon replied blandly. "We still have a few minutes before it's time for us to be in our common room."

"Ah. So you do," Snape conceded. "Very well, then, you'd best be off so you're not caught out of bounds." Hardly daring to breath, the three of them began to back toward the portrait; Harry willed Snape to turn and leave.

"_But – before you go_," Snape suddenly pointed behind Harry. "Potter, what is that in your hand?"

Harry's heart leapt into his throat. "Nothing, sir," he said dully. "Just a piece of parchment."

"Let's see it." Snape extended his hand, snapping his fingers impatiently. "Quickly, Potter, don't dawdle."

"It's n-nothing, really," Harry stammered. He was trying to move his wand behind his back to touch the Map. "Just – just –"

"Quiet!" Snape commanded, sensing he was up to something. "Don't say another word, Potter," he said tightly. "Just hand over the parchment. Don't move _anything_ but the hand holding it."

Suppressing a sigh, Harry brought the Marauder's Map out from behind his back and held it out toward Snape, who took it and held it before him, reading the words across the top of the Map in large green letters:

**_Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs  
_****_Purveyors of Aide to Magical Mischief-Makers  
_****_are proud to present  
_****The Marauder's Map**

Snape's eyes narrowed, but he did not look surprised; instead, he glared angrily at Harry. "Where did you get this?" He demanded. Harry said nothing. Snape's eyes scanned the map, his dark eyes narrowed in suspicion. "This cannot be what it purports to be, a map of the school," he said dismissively. "Hogwarts is Unplottable."

"Sir, it's nothing, really," Jon said, stepping forward to point at something near the bottom of the Map. Snape's eyes followed it downward. "Just a bit of – _mischief managed_." As Jon said this his wand, held in his other hand, tapped the underside of the Map. At once the lines and lettering on the parchment faded to invisibility.

"_What did you do_!?" Snape hissed in fury. Jon stepped back into line with Harry and Ron. Snape turned the parchment over and over, searching for any other writing on it.

Finally, his eyes flashing with frustration and anger, Snape thrust the parchment toward Harry. "Bring back the map! Reactivate it!"

"No," said Harry.

"I _order_ you to reactivate this map, Potter!" Snape shouted.

"I won't!" Harry shouted back.

"Detention, then!" Snape screamed. "All three of you, tomorrow morning at 9 a.m.!"

"I'll _never_ tell you how to get that map back!" Harry shouted defiantly at Snape. "You can give me detention for the rest of the year, you're NEVER going to find out how to work it!"

"Oh, no?" Snape said, his expression now quite mad. "Very well, then!" He dropped the Map onto the floor, then took out his wand and pointed at it. The Map burst into flames.

"NO!" Ron and Harry both shouted. But it was too late – in a swirling burst of yellow fire, the Marauder's Map was consumed.

Snape stood stock-still a moment, breathing heavily, his eyes wild, looking at Harry as if daring him to do something, _anything_. When Harry did nothing but glare back at him with a look of utmost loathing, Snape turned on his heel and strode away, leaving the three of them and a wide-eyed Fat Lady staring at the smoldering ashes of the Map.


	17. Team Gryffindor

Chapter 17

**Team Gryffindor**

For a long time Harry stood, staring at the ashes of the Marauder's Map. He'd had the Map for almost four years, ever since Fred and George had given it to him just before the second Hogsmeade visit in his third year. It had been dead useful – he couldn't even count the number of times he'd pulled it out to check where someone was, or find his way around the castle in the dead of night. He'd used it quite heavily last year while trying to figure out what Draco Malfoy had been up to – if only he's been able to puzzle it out before Malfoy had let Death Eaters into the castle.

"We should get inside," Ron, who'd been standing behind him the entire time, muttered. Harry turned to him, but Ron looked about as unhappy as Harry felt. Jon was watching both of them, a somber expression on his face.

The ashes had stopped smoldering. Harry considered collecting them but decided that would be obsessive. Slowly he turned, facing the Fat Lady, and said, "Balaclava." The portrait had swung open and the three of them entered the common room, empty now at that late hour. Without a word, the three of them trudged up the stairway to their dormitories.

At least, Harry thought, one small comfort was that Snape did not keep the Map for himself. In fact, it may have been Snape's rage at recognizing the nicknames of Remus Lupin, Sirius Black and his father, James Potter, that goaded him to destroy it in the first place.

Losing the Marauder's Map had shown Harry something, however: he had lost his focus on what his real priorities should be. Worrying over duels with Malfoy, contests like the Vault at Gringotts, and whether Hermione and Ron were getting along with each other wasn't what he should be doing. He should be focused on finding Voldemort's Horcruxes, destroying them, and figuring out how to deal with Voldemort himself. He had to stop letting things of no consequence distract him and concentrate on what was important – finding a way to destroy the Horcruxes, and Voldemort himself.

The next morning after breakfast Harry, Ron and Jon reported to Snape's office for detention. Without a word, Snape led them down to the dungeons, where they entered the Potions classroom.

"Professor Slughorn," Snape said without preamble as they entered the room, "has requested that this classroom be given a thorough cleaning. Having seen some of the potions you've brewed," Snape gave Harry a withering stare, then turned to Ron. "And yours as well, I decided that this would be an appropriate detention for the three of you."

Snape pointed to a collection of cleaning supplies stacked in a nearby corner. "You will not use magic to clean the room. I will return at noon to view your progress." Again, without a word, he left.

The three set themselves to the task. Harry and Ron had both had detentions with Snape before; they knew the meticulousness with which he would judge their efforts. For his part, Jon worked tirelessly alongside them to render the Potions classroom as spotless as possible. By shortly before noon, they had the Potions classroom spotlessly clean.

However, it wasn't until nearly two p.m. before Snape returned to the classroom. He looked around, staring critically at every surface and making _tch-tch_'ing sounds almost every time he stopped to examine something. At last, however, he dismissed the three of them, but not before assigning them an additional essay on notable features of Hogwarts castle.

Harry and Ron raced back to Gryffindor Tower for their brooms, then out to the Quidditch pitch where Gryffindors and students from other houses waited for the Captain of the team to arrive and begin tryouts. With last year's tryouts in mind, Harry had resolved that this year, they would be handled in a much more controlled manner. When he and Ron arrived on the pitch, he saw there weren't nearly as many people waiting to try out as there'd been the year before. Unfortunately, this also cut down his chances to find good players. Luckily, all the current members of the Gryffindor team were present.

Harry immediately split everyone into two groups: those who intended to try out and those who were mere onlookers. He had the onlookers move back past the first three rows of the stands. For one awful moment he'd saw Neville Longbottom in the stands and well and was afraid he was going to try out. But Neville had gone with the onlookers, waving cheerfully at Harry as he sat next to Hermione in the stands. He then eliminated all first years (there were none) and non-Gryffindor students (all of them had moved up with the onlookers).

Next Harry divided everyone trying out into the groups of those trying out for Chasers, Beaters, and Keeper. None of the groups were very big; Harry saw that Ron was the only person sitting in the section for Keeper tryouts. He breathed a sigh of thanks that McLaggen had already graduated.

The Beaters being the largest group, Harry decided to try them first. He was glad to see Jimmy and Ritchie back; however, Jack Sloper and Andrew Kirke were also present. Also, two surprise tryouts: Euan Abercrombie and Colin Creevy. As Harry watched, they seemed to be having a disagreement. He walked up to them and said, "Are you two sure you want to try out for Beater?"

They both started, but Abercrombie turned to Creevy and said loudly, "See? I _told_ you he'd have it in for me!"

"That's so not true, Euan!" Creevy shouted back at him. "Harry's not like that at all, I've told you! You've been reading too much rubbish in the _Prophet_!"

"Er," Harry said. "Hold it. I'm just asking if you're sure you want to try out for a position where you swing a large bat at an iron ball that's flying at your head."

"Sure!" both boys said in unison, and Colin added, "I've been practicing a lot this summer, Harry! I've even got pictures to prove it! Do you want to see?"

"Let's just… have tryouts first, shall we?" Harry said. He paired off Jimmy and Ritchie against Jack and Andrew, respectively, wanting to gauge their abilities against the other. He'd save Abercrombie and Creevy for last, and pit each one against a winner of the first set of eliminations. Who knows, he thought dryly, one of them might surprise him.

But in the end the two current Beaters, Jimmy and Ritchie, outperformed Sloper and Kirke in Beater tryouts; they each consistently hit the Bludger they'd released back toward their opponent, while Sloper swung and missed a few times while Kirke just dodged the ball if didn't come right where he wanted it.

Creevy made a game effort, Harry had to admit, watching him try to return the Bludgers Jimmy hit toward him. A time or two he didn't hit it hard enough; it would stop and reverse course, flying back towards him, who began swinging the bat wildly, with both arms. Abercrombie fared little better; a small boy, ill-suited to swinging a heavy bat at the 10-inch iron Bludger, he swung several times at it even as he flinched away. Harry declared Jimmy and Ritchie his new Beaters. Sloper and Kirke stomped off the pitch muttering darkly about favoritism and rigged tryouts. Creevy and Abercrombie merely resumed their argument about Harry up in the onlookers section of the stands.

For the Chaser tryouts the group wasn't as large, but it was going to present an interesting problem for Harry since he needed three Chasers and had five students trying out, only one of whom he didn't already know. It meant that a couple of them might have their feelings hurt by not being chosen. Harry sighed inwardly; that was the chance one always took when trying out for something, he reflected.

Those trying out for Chaser were Ginny, Demelza, Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnigan, and a girl he didn't recognize, a pretty dark-haired girl with a shy smile and a slender build. When Harry asked her for her name she answered "Natalie McDonald."

"You haven't tried out before," Harry pointed out. "Why did you decide to try out this year?"

"I wasn't well enough during my second year," Natalie replied. "My Healer forbade me to do any strenuous activities until I was strong enough. I had a bad case of tadfoal pox." Seamus, who'd been sitting next to Natalie, gave a start and slid surreptitiously away from her.

"But I got better!" she added brightly. "I was cured the summer before my second year, but it let me very weak and I had loads of sessions with my Healer rebuilding my muscles. I finished a year ago last spring but I couldn't try out last year, either. I've been practicing Quidditch with my mates in my home town the last two summers."

She seemed very earnest. Harry nodded. "Alright, we'll all have a go here shortly. He paired off Ginny and Seamus, Demelza and Dean, and told Natalie she'd have her tryout with him. He watched the first two tryouts carefully, noting how well each person tossed and caught the Quaffle both in parallel flying, in pass-bys (that is, passing while flying by in the opposite direction, and in pass-backs (passing to a person directly behind you). Everyone made some difficult catches, especially since they were testing each other to see how far they could stretch to catch the Quaffle.

Harry went up with Natalie. She handled the ball well, throwing it to where Harry could easily catch it even though he gave her a few difficult ones to test her. She didn't handle the ball as well as Ginny did, but Harry was still impressed. She must've been practicing a lot in the last two years.

Landing, Harry had Natalie rejoin the other Chaser tryouts. He noticed that she sat next to Ginny and that they both began talking excitedly about how each of them did. Mulling that bit of information over, Harry saw a way to avoid some hard feelings between Dean and Seamus, who were both his roommates and good friends with each other, and with him, if one of them wasn't picked. Both Ginny and Demelza had done well, no one would argue with him there; it was the third choice could cause problems.

"For Chaser," Harry announced. "First spot goes to Ginny Weasley." There was a general shout and applause; the onlookers all approved of this choice. "Second to Demelza Robins," Harry continued. Again there was applause; as Harry had expected, both his first and second choices met with everyone's approval. "Third spot goes to – Natalie McDonald!"

Both Ginny and Demelza whooped. Natalie shrieked, while Dean and Seamus both slumped, disappointed. The three girls jumped up and began swinging each other around while the onlookers applauded. Taking advantage of the momentary celebration, Harry approached Dean and Seamus.

"Sorry, guys," Harry said, loud enough so only they would hear. "It was very close. She has a lot of heart, though," Harry added, glancing back at Natalie, still dancing with Ginny and Demelza.

"She does, aye," Seamus agreed glumly. Dean nodded as well.

"In case she has a relapse, though," Harry said, catching both their eyes. "Will you two be available if I need a replacement player this year?"

"Sure," Dean and Seamus both said simultaneously. "But," Seamus added, looking shrewdly at Harry. "Which one of us will you call on first?" They both waited expectantly for his answer.

Harry tilted his head thoughtfully, as if the question was difficult indeed. "That's too close to call, mates," he said finally. "I'll have to flip a coin when the time comes. You've both brilliant."

Both Dean and Seamus beamed at him.

"Quite a tryout, wasn't it," Ginny said to Harry a few minutes later as he finished stowing his robe in his locker. "You're becoming more like a real Quidditch Captain every day," she added with a teasing smile.

"Do you really think so?" Harry said in mock surprise, and Ginny laughed.

Her voice grew soft again. "Yes, I think so." Suddenly she turned and touched his cheek, and for a moment Harry felt the old thrill of her nearness. "I haven't had much of a chance to talk to you lately. I miss you."

"I know, we should do that sometime soon," Harry said, a ghost of a smile on his lips, and she kissed him lightly on the cheek.

"I'll take you up on that," she said, looking intently at him for several seconds. Then she grabbed her broom. "I've got to run," she said, "I've got a few things to check out in Hogsmeade."

"You can't go to Hogsmeade," Harry said. "You're not a seventh-year and it's not a Hogsmeade visit weekend."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Harry, come on. My brothers were _Fred and George Weasley_, for Merlin's sake! Even if the Map's gone, I still remember where the secret passages are. But," she added darkly, "I'd hate to have to tell either of them what Snape did – they are _not_ going to be happy. I'll talk to you later." And she was gone.

Walking back toward Hogwarts, his broom slung over his shoulder, Harry pondered how to tell Fred and George what had happened to the Marauder's Map. They weren't likely to be happy about it, true, but they'd given it to Harry in his third year, nearly four years ago now. And they were no longer at Hogwarts anyway, so what did it matter?

Well, of course Harry could answer that, he told himself grimly. It would be letting Snape win. Neither Fred nor George would let that stand, he knew. And, as the person they had entrusted it to, Harry now felt an obligation to let them know what had happened. His mind made up, he ran into the castle and up Gryffindor Tower to his dormitory room.

It was deserted at this time of day, Harry saw on entering. Securing his broom away, he got out his Invisibility Cloak. Jon hadn't been in the common room, and no one had answered Harry's knocking at his dormitory door. In all likelihood he was still at the Shrieking Shack, if indeed he had gone there after leaving Rosemerta's. If Ron had been here he would have asked him to come along, but perhaps it was just as well; Ron didn't seem happy with either him or Jon at the moment. Harry dithered, not sure what to do, but the small voice in the back of his head said, _nothing ventured, nothing gained_. Harry made up his mind.

Donning the Cloak, Harry moved carefully down the stairway then across the common room to the wall beside the fireplace. No one was near him; the few Gryffindors who were around were either studying or engaged in conversation. To be safe, Harry pulled out his wand under the Cloak and pointed it at people nearby, casting _Muffliato_ on them. Replacing his wand in his pocket, he put his hand on the wall and said, "_Sudnallitit mauqnun sneimrod ocārd_" under his breath. As before, a small section of the wall opened inward. Harry darted in quickly, pushing the section back in place quickly before someone noticed the opening.

He lit his wand and made his way down the long, spiraling staircase to the base of the Tower. Repeating the phrase at the outside entrance, Harry hurried over to the Whomping Willow where he tried Jon's wand-extending spell, watching with delight as the tip of his wand shot forward to press the knot, causing the Willow to freeze. Sliding into the small hole between the roots, Harry again made his way, crawling uncomfortably in the cramped passage, to the other end leading up into the Shrieking Shack.

Brushing dirt from his robe, hands and knees, Harry made his way cautiously to the room near the back where Jon had led them. In there he saw the door to Jon's secret room; Jon was almost certainly inside. Harry knocked softly.

"Come in, Harry," Jon's voice called. Harry walked in; Jon was standing at one of the benches, working. As he walked around the covered Corvette, Harry saw that Jon was fitting twigs into the tail of a broom, one very similar to the one he'd shown him and Ron a few days ago. "Sorry," Jon apologized. "I should have asked if you or Ron wanted to come with me or drop by after your Quidditch practice."

"Forget it," Harry said. "I thought tryouts would go on longer than they did."

"Why, did something happen?" Jon stopped fitting twigs into the tail and looked at him.

"No… I just… thought it would take longer than it did," Harry finally said, bending the truth only a bit. "How's it going here?"

"Pretty good," Jon said, nodding toward the broom on the bench in front of him. I'm mostly done with the second broom, I've just got the tail to put in and test, then add a few minor spells after I put on the anti-jinx varnish. After that dries for a day or so I'll put the polish on and that'll be the second one.

Harry came over to study the broom. It looked almost exactly like the one Jon had shown them earlier; the only difference he saw was that the tail section was not completely woven together.

"How long does it take to make one?" Harry asked, curious.

"If you have all the materials at hand, not very long; about, oh, six or seven hours per broom, not counting drying time. A lot of that is checking the aerodynamics – like this." Jon waved his wand and the broom lifted into the air a few inches; a wind began blowing across the broom and, as Harry watched, Jon held his wand in front of and just above the handle. A thin line of smoke from his wand streamed past the broom's shaft and tail. Jon carefully scrutinized the turbulence pattern across the tail – Harry could barely see a ripple as he moved the smoke stream below and to either side of the broom.

Satisfied that the broom's tail was streamlined, Jon waved the wand again and it settled back onto the countertop as the wind died away. He turned to Harry. "I'm guessing you didn't come here to watch me build racing brooms, did you?"

"No, I came to ask a favor."

"Really?" Jon said, looking interested. "Shoot."

"I want to go to Diagon Alley."

Jon studied him for a moment. "Tonight, I assume?" he asked, bemused.

"Yes," Harry nodded. At least Jon was taking him seriously, he thought. "I want to tell Fred and George, personally, that the Marauder's Map is destroyed."

"Oh, were they the ones who made it?"

"No, but they gave it to me. I feel responsible for letting Snape get hold of it. I should have refused to give it to him."

"I'm sure that wouldn't have stopped him from taking it."

"Probably not," Harry conceded. "But at least I wouldn't have just given it up to him."

Jon nodded. "Well, I'm not saying no, but what other options do you have to get there?"

"I could get there in several ways, but your car is the only way to do it without a big chance of being detected by the Ministry. I could get there through the Floo Network, but they'll be keeping track of comings and goings that way. I could fly there on my broom, but it would be at least a six-hour flight one-way, and I'd have to leave outside of Hogwarts – there are enchantments to keep people from flying brooms into and out of the castle. And I could Apparate," he said finally, "but the truth is, I'd really like to see how your car flies."

"Well, I'm game if you are," Jon said. "But it's at least a two-and-a-half hour trip each way, plus however long we stay there. It could be midnight before we get back."

"We could probably sleep there tonight," Harry suggested. "Fred and George will let us, I expect. We could fly back tomorrow. It's not like Ron's going to report that we're missing." _I hope_ _he tells Hermione where I am, though_, Harry added, to himself. _She might wake the entire school looking for me if she doesn't know I'm gone_.

Jon waved his wand at the Corvette and the covering slithered off, folded itself and floated onto a bare spot on a nearby countertop. Another wave and Harry heard the doors unlock. Jon got in the driver's door while Harry naturally took the passenger side.

Once inside, Harry studied the car's dashboard with great interest. At the moment the car looked quite normal, exactly like he'd expect a two-seater sports car to appear. In fact, it seemed almost cramped. In front of them was the usual steering wheel, a shifter and instrument dials and buttons. Directly in front of Harry was the glove box. There was another shifter between the seats, beside the gearshift, one that Harry couldn't fathom.

"Let's get going," Jon said. "But first –" he pushed a small black button with the symbol of an eye inscribed on it. The Corvette's clock, set in the dash between the two seats, went blank. Jon peered at it for several seconds. "No one around," he said to Harry with a smile, "so we can do this –" as he waved his wand over his shoulder. Harry turned around to watch the wall behind them open up, as it had before when he'd gone flying on Jon's broom.

"Oh, better do this too, just in case," Jon said, pushing another button on the dash, this one blue with the image of a cloak on it. Nothing seemed to happen, but Harry heard a sound like leaves blowing in the wind; Jon put the car in reverse and backed out into the Shrieking Shack's yard.

He waved his wand again and the opening in the Shack closed in front of them. "I have to get that automated," Jon said, almost to himself. "Or I'm going to go off sometime and leave it open."

"We're invisible right now," he said to Harry. "So even if someone in Hogsmeade or Hogwarts happens to glance up as we're leaving, they won't see anything unless they can see invisible objects. I don't think there are too many wizards around who can do that."

"I know a couple," Harry said remembering Mad-Eye Moody and Dumbledore. "Or at least one, now," he added, quietly.

"Let me show you how this works," Jon was saying. "You know how a normal car works, right?" Harry nodded. "Okay. Everything works the same in this car whether you're on the ground or in the air. You push the gas pedal –"

"The what pedal?" Harry asked.

"You'd say the petrol feed, I suppose," Jon said, pointing to the pedal under his right foot. "Push that to accelerate, this one to brake, and the clutch and gearshift to make the car go faster or slower, or in reverse. This shifter _here_ –" he indicated the one next to the gearshift "— I added to control the pitch of the car. When it's here in the middle, the car is normal. If I pull it back, the car will go nose up; forward, it goes nose down. Pretty simple."

"I'll take your word for it," Harry grinned. It did seem more straightforward than the Weasleys' old Ford Anglia. Perhaps that had been due to Mr. Weasley's overall unfamiliarity with Muggle cars; virtually no magical folk other than Ministry Aurors drove vehicles, magical or not.

"Ready, then?" Jon asked. Without waiting for an answer he shifted into first and pressed the gas pedal. The car surged forward, pushing a startled Harry back into his seat, and rapidly gained speed. The Shrieking Shack was at the top of a small hill and the Corvette was headed downward toward a dilapidated old fence surround the property. Jon shifted into second and the Corvette leapt forward again, gaining momentum, heading straight for the fence now.

Just as Harry was sure Jon planned to crash right through the fence, he pulled back on the pitch lever and the car tilted upwards and soared into the air, clearing the fence and rising rapidly. Jon shifted again then put the car into a slight turn so that Harry could see down into the village of Hogsmeade as they rose above it.

It was quite a sight, the rows of stores and houses along the main road, High Street, with several side streets branching out from it. He'd never flown over Hogsmeade before; flying at the school was limited to the area near the Quidditch pitch. Being inside a car wasn't quite the same as broom flying, however, although it was a lot more comfortable.

Leveling out, Jon next pressed a blue button with several concentric circles and lines dividing it into eight sections. The clock face disappeared again, replaced by a flat black background with a white dot in the center, and Jon said, "The Leaky Cauldron, London." A small green dot appeared on the face, near the edge, below and to the right of the face's center. Jon banked right, turning until the dot was directly above the white one. He then said, "Autopilot, speed 250," and let go of the wheel.

"Well, that's it," he said, sitting back in the seat. "We'll be there in about two-and-a-half hours or so. D'you want something to drink while we're waiting?"

Jon conjured Harry a butterbeer and himself a can of something he called "pop," which seemed to be colored, flavored sparkling water. They chatted about the Corvette, brooms, and the House Quidditch teams for some time. Jon seemed to know a lot of things but he didn't say much about himself beyond what Harry already knew from before. The most he'd say about his childhood was that after his parents died his uncles had raised him in a Wizarding environment and that he began attending Merlin's, an eight-year school, when he was ten.

In what seemed like no time, but was actually almost two-and-a-half hours later, the outskirts of north London were coming into view. Jon took over the wheel again. "We could land on a street, become visible, and drive into London," he said to Harry, steering southward, "But I don't want to try driving on English roads just yet."

"You can aim for the Clock Tower, the Leaky Cauldron is north of that," Harry said.

"I've never heard of that," Jon said, looking at him blankly. "What's the Clock Tower?"

"You know," Harry said, goggling a bit at Jon's ignorance. "The big clock we have here in London? It's really famous. You might call it something else, though." He pointed off in the distance ahead of them. "See it, right there? Turn a little left. Yes, now it's dead on."

"Oh," Jon said, recognizing it at last. "Big Ben! Okay, I've got it."

"See the railway station over there?" Harry said, pointing. Jon nodded. "Okay, we want to follow the road to the right of it for a ways south. That'll take us to Charing Cross Road and the Leaky Cauldron."

Eventually they were stopped several hundred feet above where Harry estimated the Leaky Cauldron would be. As Harry wondered how they would land, Jon gripped the pitch lever and pressed his thumb down on top of it. "I thought about situations like this," he said, gently pushing on the lever. The car started to descend slowly, staying level. "It's vertical take-off and landing," he said with a smile. "We'll be landing in a few moments."

"Dunno where you're going to park, though," Harry said, looking out the window at the street below.

It was true: there was no place for them to park the car anywhere along the street near the Leaky Cauldron's entrance. They managed to find a spot on one of the small side roads, and Jon settled the car into the spot and turned off the cloak just as another car approached the spot, looking for parking. Harry watched the driver of the car eye them in wonderment as he went by, evidently trying to figure out where they came from.

They got out, locked the doors, and Jon inconspicuously passed his wand over it to activate the anti-theft systems. They then walked over to Charing Cross Road to where most people saw only a book store and record store standing side-by-side. To Harry and Jon, however, the grubby little shop front with the sign "Leaky Cauldron" above its door was clearly visible. They entered, finding the place filled with people drinking and engaged in various activities, from darts to wizard chess; there were even a few younger men in a booth playing Exploding Snap, to the annoyance of patrons around them. Harry waved to Tom, the bartender, and continued into the small courtyard out back where the entrance to Diagon Alley appeared after Harry tapped a particular brick three times with his wand. They passed through the entryway and up the street to number 93, Diagon Alley, where Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes stood.

"Harry!" Fred said as they entered. "What a surprise, I'd've expected you from the fireplace. And who's this?" he said, looking at Jon.

"Jonathan Crown, this is Fred Weasley, one of Ron's brothers."

"Hello, Fred," Jon said, and they shook hands.

"You must be the exchange student Ginny mentioned," Fred said, and Harry's ears perked up. Ginny had mentioned Jon to the twins? Why would she do that?

"Yes, I am," Jon nodded. "Ginny's mentioned you and your brother George as well."

"Harry!" George said, emerging from the back. "We were about to close up shop and grab a bite. Want to come along?"

"Yes," Harry said. "We have some things to talk about."

Ginny was right – both of the twins were very upset to hear about Snape's destruction of the Marauder's Map. They had found a café a short walk from Gringotts, one George mentioned that Bill and Fleur sometimes ate at for lunch.

What they were more interested in, however, was how he'd seemed to fool the Marauder's Map into not showing him outside the Gryffindor common room until it was too late. Harry had to admit that had him stumped as well.

"George and I tried a few things to fool it," Fred said between mouthfuls of food as they ate. "It always correctly identified us. Whatever Snape did, it must have been some pretty advanced spellwork."

"We never did figure it out," George mused. "The Map, I mean. How it was able to map an Unplottable area like Hogwarts."

"It can't have been that difficult," Harry said, taking another bite of his hamburger. "After all it was written by Lupin, Sirius and my dad when they were still students at Hogwarts."

"We tried to have a chat with Lupin about that once, when he was at the Burrow visiting Mum and Dad, but he didn't seem too interested in discussing it." George nicked a chip off of Fred's plate as the latter was watching a pretty young witch stroll by. "I'd think he'd be _proud_ of it – four unqualified wizards coming up with magic like that."

"Yeah, that's something else, too," Fred pointed out, turning back to them. "I remember that their names on the heading of the map said, 'Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs' – if their names were in order of contribution, I wonder what Wormtail did to get second place."

"Maybe they used some other method to determine the order of their names," Harry said. He didn't quite like the implication that his father contributed least to the map. "Or maybe they just like how 'Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs' sounded."

"Maybe," Fred conceded. He hesitated a moment, and Harry saw his eyes flick momentarily to Jon before continuing. "By the way, Harry, there's something that we'd like to show you, if we have time, when we get back to the shop. It's business," he added.

Something in the way Fred said the word "business," along with George suddenly becoming quiet and attentive, made Harry think something was up. He glanced around; there was no one sitting near enough to eavesdrop. "Is it something to do with – with Voldemort?" he asked quietly.

Fred and George looked at each other, then at Jon, then Harry. "Well, it does," George admitted. "But I don't know if you want to discuss it out in the open like this. People can have long ears, you know," he said significantly.

"Jon knows about them," Harry said simply. "But you're right – we should probably wait to discuss this back at the shop."

They paid for the meals and walked quickly back to Fred and George's shop and up to the flat they shared above it. Fred put a kettle of water on the stove for tea, and soon they were seated around their kitchen table with steaming cups and a plate of cookies. Eating one, Harry smiled, remembering eating Hagrid's rock cakes in his cabin on the Hogwarts grounds; there had been a few times when he was hungry enough that even they tasted good.

"George and I have been considering what we can do to help you," Fred began, once they were all comfortable. Harry could tell he was being discrete in front of Jon – none of them knew enough about the American to speak completely freely in front of him.

But Jon had his own ideas as well. "It seems like the first question to ask about Voldemort is – is he really dead?"

"Many people think his death has been conclusively proven," George pointed out, "based on the findings published in the Daily Prophet in the weeks following the attack on the Longbottoms house in late July."

"And what do you think?" Jon asked, pointedly.

Neither Fred nor George answered him. "What do you think happened?" Harry asked Jon in return.

"I'm skeptical about his death," Jon answered immediately.

"Why?" Fred asked.

"Partly an intuition," Jon replied. "Something doesn't feel right about the story. And part of it is that the story seems so similar, in certain respects, to the story from sixteen years ago, when Harry's parents were killed and Voldemort disappeared.

"I find it curious that the same thing would happen a few months ago as did back then – Voldemort underestimating the sacrifice Mrs. Longbottom for her grandson Neville. Surely such an brilliant wizard could be so lacking in common sense."

"So what do you think has happened to Voldemort?" Harry asked.

"I have no idea," Jon shrugged, "beyond my relative certainty that he is not a ghost or a revenant.

"It is possible," Harry said seriously, "that if Voldemort actually died he might return as a ghost. Nearly Headless Nick told me that some wizards can leave an imprint of themselves upon the earth, like he did, especially if they are afraid of death for some reason."

"Most ghosts don't really understand what they're choosing when they choose to return," Fred said, just as quietly. "They are afraid to die, so much so that they choose to remain, attached to some place or some object, or even a person, until they choose to release their fear and accept whatever lies beyond this life."

"Voldemort is afraid of death" George continued. "But he also wants power – if merely being 'alive' were enough for him, it would have been a simple matter for him to create or choose a place for him to stay after he died – a 'Haunt.'"

"A Haunt?" Harry repeated the word. "What's that?"

"A Haunt," Fred replied, "is a location or an object that a wizard chooses, consciously or instinctively, to associate itself with in its ghostly state. The Haunt does not constrain the ghost – it is able to separate itself from its Haunt, sometimes over long distances and times."

"How did you come to learn about these things?" Harry inquired.

"We've been keeping our ears to the ground," Fred said in a light tone.

The four of them talked late into the evening, about Voldemort and his Death Eaters; all the while, Harry tried to keep the conversation steered away from ideas that would lead them toward the idea of Horcruxes or fragments of souls. Several times it seemed as if one or the other of them must conclude that Voldemort had somehow stored a fragment of his soul inside one object or another so he could maintain its presence on Earth in the case that his physical body died. But, neither Fred, George, or Jon made the leap to that conclusion.

Harry and Jon didn't return Hogwarts until early afternoon the next day, Sunday. They made their way back from the Shrieking Shack to the Whomping Willow, then walked casually back to the base of Gryffindor Tower where they followed the secret passageway back to the Gryffindor common room, entering under Harry's Invisibility Cloak and returning to Harry's dormitory.

Harry realized during the flight back to Hogwarts that Jon now knew nearly as much about Voldemort as he, Hermione and Ron did; the only thing he lacked was the knowledge that Voldemort had bound fragments of his soul into objects that would keep from permanent death as long as they existed. Still, he didn't plan on letting anyone else in on that secret; it would remain with Harry and his two best friends.

"Thanks for taking me," he told Jon once they'd removed the Invisibility Cloak. "It was interesting talking with you, Fred and George about ghosts and such."

"It was," Jon concurred. "In fact, I'm going to do some more research in the Library," he said, moving to the door of Harry's dormitory room. "I'll find you all tonight during dinner if not before." With a wave he was gone.


	18. The Vault Tournament

Chapter 18

**The Vault Tournament**

"You could've asked me too, you know," Ron said moodily as he, Harry and Hermione sat in the Gryffindor common room later that day before dinner.

"Yeah, well, you could've hung about for a minute after we finished practice yesterday," Harry shot back. "I didn't even think about it until then, and when I looked for you, you were nowhere about. Where did you go, anyway?" Harry asked.

Ron shrugged indifferently. "I dunno, just walking around. I stopped by Hagrid's place but he wasn't there."

"Ron, I keep telling you not to bottle up your feelings," Hermione said gently. "That's the reason why things like this happen – because you don't communicate well enough with each other." Harry and Ron's eyes met for a moment, but neither of them otherwise reacted – there was no point in getting Hermione fired up as well by rolling their eyes at her.

"Anyway," Harry continued quietly, wanting to get to his point now that he had Ron and Hermione together in one spot, "I realized that we've been letting our work on Voldemort slip too much. We need to get back to locating and destroying his Horcruxes."

"Yes, but _how_, Harry?" Hermione pointed out. "We keep running into dead ends and false leads."

"I know," Harry agreed. "But we have to keep at it until we eliminate all of them. Hopefully what's left over will lead us to the Horcruxes." He didn't say it aloud but it was the most frustrating thing about not having Dumbledore around – they simply didn't have any firm way to find Voldemort's remaining Horcruxes. Even Dumbledore himself had to leave Hogwarts fairly often last year while searching for them, and he only came up with one solid lead, which proved to be a dead end – what they had found in the cave last summer had been a false Horcrux left in place of the real one by the mysterious R.A.B.

It was finally time for dinner, and Harry, Ron and Hermione packed up their books, dropped them off in their dormitories and walked down to the Great Hall. A short time later they were joined by Jon Crown, who seated himself across from Harry.

"How's the car?" Ron couldn't help asking.

"It's doing fine," Jon said, around a mouthful of chicken. "It was kind of fun running it at that speed – I'm sorry you didn't get to come along, Ron." Ron shrugged.

"There's always next Saturday," he said trying to sound casual, as if it didn't matter, "when the Vault Tournament begins."

Jon looked from Ron to Harry. "Were you thinking of going to that?" Both Ron and Hermione looked at Harry.

"Well, I was," Harry said. "There are some more things I'd like to discuss with Fred and George and going to watch the Tournament rounds will be a good reason to go to Diagon Alley."

"Good point," Jon agreed. "And it will be interesting to see what kind of wizards try to tackle that Vault as well. I wonder who'll want to try to open it after Gringotts's best Cursebreakers have tried and failed at it."

"I think it would be a good idea to go, too," Hermione said suddenly. Ron looked at her, suspicious. "We might be able to talk to Bill," she said, giving him a look that dared him to suggest there was any other reason on her mind.

"That's your brother, isn't it, Ron?" Jon asked him. Ron nodded, still looking thoughtfully at Hermione.

"Excuse me? Jon?" He looked around to find Deirdre Recaunt standing next to him.

"Hello," Jon said.

Deirdre looked shyly around the table. "I-I hate to bother you, but I wonder if you would have some time to help my with the Transfiguration homework Professor Tonks assigned us? I don't think I understand it."

"Sure, that will be fine," Jon said, smiling at her. "Why don't we meet in the Library in about –" he glanced at his watch "– say, an hour?"

"That would be so wonderful," Deirdre said, beaming. "Thank you so much! I'll see you then!" She turned on her heel and walked quickly out of the room.

Ron, watching her leave, turned back with almost a smirk on his face. "I think Deirdre's got a crush on somebody," he said slyly.

"Well," Jon said with an airy shrug, "she _did_ pick the best guy in the room." Both Harry and Ron responded with good-humored jeers. Hermione's face remained carefully neutral.

As it turned out, however, dinner was about the most they saw of Jon that week other than in classes. He began helping Deirdre with her Transfiguration homework on a regular basis. He would bolt down dinner on the nights they saw him in the Great Hall, then dash off explaining he had to help Deirdre or had some special research of his own to conduct.

Harry kept trying to pull Ron and Hermione into discussions about Horcruxes to get them focused on researching the possible whereabouts of the Hufflepuff cup or Slytherin locket. Unfortunately, Ron was still fixed on the Mystery Vault and how they should have a look at it that coming Saturday – and see Fred, George and Bill as well. And when he wasn't discussing the Mystery Vault, he was on about whether Jon and Deirdre were snogging or not.

"You just can't hang out with a girl that much and not want to snog her," he mentioned to Harry one afternoon as he, Harry and Hermione were walking back to the castle from their last class of the day, Herbology.

"Is that so?" Hermione said coolly. "He was hanging out with me quite a bit at the beginning of the year. Do you think he wanted to snog me?"

"I wouldn't be a bit surprised," Ron shot back.

"Why not?" Hermione snapped.

"Because you're very good looking, and because you're the smartest witch in the school!"

"Is that why _you're_ hanging out with me?" Hermione said, her voice becoming shrill. "Because I help you with your homework? Or do it _for_ you, mostly," she added, harshly.

"You're not doing all my homework!" Ron fired up.

"Is that so?" Hermione stopped in her tracks. "Shall I stop and see how much of you get done in the next week?"

"Fine!" Ron said, almost shouting. "Maybe you can help Deirdre too, so Jon won't need to spend so much time with her and you two can do 'homework' together."

Hermione stared at Ron for several seconds, shock and anger written across her face; then she said in a falsely-calm voice, "I'll see you later, Harry. I have some things to take care of before dinner." She turned and dashed into a nearby girls' restroom.

Harry winced, then sighed and looked at Ron in disgust. "Can't you just give that a rest?"

"She just needs to pick one of us, him or me," Ron muttered darkly. "I don't care which."

"Don't be a git," Harry said angrily. "You _do_ care. You wouldn't be on about it if you didn't care."

"You're not helping either!" Ron flared up at him. "You keep trying to push them together!"

"WHAT?!" Harry blinked in astonishment. "That's it. You've gone mental."

"You've been trying to get them together all week!" Ron hissed.

"I've been trying to get US all together all week!" Harry looked around; there were no other students nearby. He lowered his voice to a near-whisper anyway and continued. "We need to figure out a strategy for finding Voldemort's Horcruxes, and he's smart enough to have some ideas on how to do it –"

"And I don't, right?" Ron snapped.

"I didn't say that!" Harry said, frustrated by Ron's insistence on acting like a prat.

Ron and Hermione maintained a mutual, agrieved silence for the rest of the week, with Harry once again in the middle of it all. In one sense, at least, it was working out, because Ron was putting in more effort on his homework than he had in a long time, something he tended to be lax about that when he and Hermione were on good terms. Harry idly wondered a time or two during the week whether it would be better for them to break up so Ron could actually make it through his N.E.W.T.s without relying too much on Hermione's help.

Wednesday evening after Quidditch practice, after talking with Demelza, Jimmy and Ritchie about some new Chaser/Beater formations, Harry stopped by the Library to see if Hermione was in there. She wasn't in her usual spot, and Harry was about to leave when he thought he heard a familiar voice. Looking out cautiously from between two shelves he saw Jon and Ginny sitting together at a table, talking. They both looked very intent on their conversation; Ginny was gesturing as she spoke, something she did when talking seriously about something while Jon leaned close and was nodding at what she said.

A feeling welled up in Harry that he hadn't felt for some time – an anger that made him want to take out his wand and curse Jon on the spot for talking with Ginny the way he, Harry, should be talking with her. He spun around and ran from the Library and back up to the common room.

It happened again Thursday, this time he went to the Library deliberately, and to that same section. They were there again, just as they had been yesterday. _What could they be talking about?_ Harry wondered. Would he even want to know? And why couldn't Ginny talk with him about whatever she was evidently pouring her heart out to Jon about? Hadn't she said Harry could come to her with anything? Didn't that mean she could come to _him_ as well? Harry watched them for several minutes, until Madam Pince told them the Library would be closing shortly. He made his way back to his dormitory and flopped down on his bed, trying (without much success) to imagine reasonable explanations for Jon and Ginny to be talking every day that didn't involve her being interested in him.

It wasn't until Friday afternoon at dinner that they had a chance to talk to Jon again. He sat down across from Harry, who was sitting between Ron and Hermione, and asked, "How's it going?"

"Fantastic," Harry said dully, taking a huge bite of pork chop immediately afterward so he had an excuse not to continue. Ron had looked up but said nothing; Hermione had given Jon a wan smile but said nothing either.

"Are we still on for the trip to Diagon Alley tomorrow?" Jon asked softly. Harry shrugged.

"Dunno," he said with a trace of sarcasm in his voice. "Will you have time to make it tomorrow? I know how busy you've been this week."

Jon didn't immediately reply. "Well, you're right," he finally said. "I have been busy helping Deirdre with some of her schoolwork, and I've been putting time in on those brooms for the Gryffindor Quidditch team."

"Oh yeah?" Harry said indifferently. "How's that going?"

"I have four of them completed now," Jon said, now looking at Harry curiously. "Harry, is there something wrong?"

"No, nothing's wrong," Harry without looking up from his plate. "I just thought, after we'd talked with Fred and George, that you'd be around more to help us."

"Well, I _am_ around," Jon said, having caught on to what Harry was being so cool about. "But there are only so many hours in the day and I wanted to finish what I started for you."

"For me? You're doing this for _me_?" Harry finally looked up, his expression angry. "That's a load of dung and you know it. You're not here to learn anything; you're here on some big holiday – driving an illegal car, talking to every girl in the place – this is all some kind of game you're playing, isn't it?"

Both Hermione and Ron were staring, shocked, at Harry's outburst. "Harry," Hermione protested, "it's not very fair of you to say that –"

"Oh no?" Harry turned on her. "Sticking up for him, are you? Because he's smart, right? Or maybe there's some other reason?"

"I'm sticking up for Jon because he hasn't done anything wrong!" Hermione fired right back. "Jon's nice, and he _is_ smart, and you've got no business acting like this for no –"

"And maybe Ginny likes him, too?" Harry cut over her.

"_What_?!" Ron said.

"Harry, what are you trying to say?" Jon demanded. "There's nothing going on between Ginny and me."

"Oh, right," Harry sneered. "So why've you've been spending hours in the Library with her then?"

Jon glared at him for several moments. "Because she needs someone to talk to, someone who isn't too close to the problem she's having," he said bluntly.

"And what's the problem she's having?" Harry snorted.

"Trying to figure out what to do after you've dead and she has to spend the rest of her life without you," Jon replied.

Jon's response stopped Harry flat for several seconds. Ron and Hermione were looking at each other in astonishment.

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" he finally asked still angry.

Jon stood up, grabbed his book bag, and said "Come on."

"Where are we going?" Harry demanded as he, Ron and Hermione followed Jon out of the Great Hall.

"Somwhere private," Jon said as they walked across the entrance hall to the corridor opposite the Great Hall. He walked into one of the unused classrooms there and stood by the door while Harry, Hermione and Ron filed in, then pushed it shut, took out his wand and waved it at the door.

Facing Harry, Jon told him, "Ginny's had a secret for some time now, a secret that she's afraid to tell you because of what you might do if you knew about it."

Harry eyed Jon suspiciously. "Ginny's known me for a long time. Does she think I'm going to go off and do something stupid?" He turned to Hermione and Ron. "Do you know what he's on about?"

Hermione shook her head. Ron shrugged. "Don't look at me, Harry; she hasn't told me anything since I told Fred and George about all the boyfriends she'd had over the last couple of years. _And_, I haven't said anything to her, either," he added emphatically.

"It's about something a lot more important than how many boyfriends Ginny's had," Jon said tersely. "It's about your life, Harry."

"What about it?" Harry said shortly. "Come on, just say what you're going to say!"

"Do you remember the Christmas party Professor Slughorn had last year?" Jon asked him.

"Yeah." Harry had followed Snape and Malfoy out of that party and overheard Snape saying he'd made the Unbreakable Vow with Malfoy's mother; he fulfilled that Vow by murdering Professor Dumbledore. "I remember. But Ginny wasn't there."

"Yes, she was," Jon told him. "She was hanging back, giving you and Luna room. You remember you asked Luna to go?"

"Yeah?" Harry said again. "So?"

"Ginny ended up that evening talking to Professor Trelawney after you left. Trelawney was going on about you being 'the Chosen One' and all. She was pretty well plastered by the end of the evening." Harry said nothing, but he was not at all surprised by that.

"Ginny helped Trelawney back to her room," Jon continued. "She figured Trelawney didn't need the hassle of being found wandering the corridors of the school drunk and lost.

"Well, they got back to her residence and Ginny was about to leave when Trelawney started talking very strangely, much differently than she usually does, Ginny said. Very harshly, she put it."

Harry blinked. In spite of his disdain for Sibyll Trelawney, he knew that she sometimes spoke of things before they happened. She had done so twice: The first time had been the Prophecy she'd given to Dumbledore in the Hog's Head Inn, the year before Harry was born. The other was during Harry's Divination examination at the end of his third year, which the Dark Lord's servant, chained for twelve years, would escape that very night to rejoin his master. That prophecy came true when they discovered that Ron's pet rat, Scabbers, was really Peter Pettigrew, who did escape that night, found Voldemort, and helped revive him almost a year later. "What – what did she say?" he asked. "Did Ginny tell you?"

"Yes," Jon said, closing his eyes. "She shared what she saw with me." He spoke, remembering, "_'The Chosen One shall not prevail against the Dark Lord, he shall not survive his final attack. Then the Dark Lord will return to that which he covets most, to make it his own. Only the power of seven can defeat him; only that which he hates can keep him from final victory.'_"

"The power of seven?" Hermione said wonderingly. "And that which he hates."

"He hates _everything_, doesn't he?" Ron said darkly. "But what good does knowing _that_ do?"

"Why didn't Ginny tell me this herself?" Harry challenged Jon. "Why didn't she tell Hermione or even Ron? I can't see her keeping something like this a secret."

"I don't know why she didn't tell you." Jon paced back and forth in the room, thinking. "If I had to guess, though, I'd say it was – fear.""She's a Gryffindor," Ron said fiercely. "She's not afraid of anything!"

"Not even spiders?" Jon said, turning to him. He looked at Harry. "Or dementors?" Ron looked away, but Harry held his gaze. "Everyone has fears. I think Ginny's fear was that you would never realize how you felt about her."

"But we did get together," Harry reminded him. "Why didn't she tell me then?"

Jon shrugged. "You'll have to ask her. She's probably the most sensible girl I've ever met, Harry –" Hermione blinked at this, but said nothing "– but even she has blind spots. I don't think she wanted to be the one to tell you Trelawney's prophecy, either directly or through your friends. She may think you'll blame her for what Trelawney said."

That startled Harry. "Why would I do that?"

She was the only one around when Trelawney made that prediction. She wonders, I think, if Trelawney would have made it if she wasn't there.

"But I told her to look at it another way," Jon continued. "If she hadn't been there, _nobody_ might have heard it. In that case, you would not be forewarned about the final battle with Voldemort."

"Wait – h-how do we know that this is a real prediction?" Hermione objected; she looked at them imploringly, trying to see a way to explain Trelawney's words.

"It sounded real," Harry said flatly. "Trelawney's predictions sound nothing like how she teaches Divination class. She doesn't even remember them. I believe Ginny saw a real prediction."

"Harry," Ron said, stricken. "If that's true, it means Voldemort is going to kill you!"

Harry could think of nothing to say to contradict him.

They left the classroom shortly after Ron's statement. In the common room, while the others stopped, Harry ran up the staircase to his dormitory, ignoring Hermione and Ron calling his name. He threw himself onto his bed, thinking furiously about why Ginny would not have confided Trelawney's prediction to him.

After some time Neville came into the room and Harry, not wanting to talk to him, pretended to be asleep. Neville, however, barely gave him more than a glance before getting something out of his trunk and disappearing down the stairs again. Eventually Harry dropped off into actual sleep.

He dreamed a very strange dream: He, Dumbledore and Voldemort were sitting around the table in Dumbledore's old office, discussing how they might resolve the Prophecy so no one else needed to get hurt. Dumbledore and Voldemort had seemed quite at ease with each other, to Harry's confusion; he'd felt badly out of place sitting there listening to them discuss old times at Hogwarts like fast friends instead of implacable enemies.

As if this weren't bad enough, Ron suddenly showed up at the door to Dumbledore's office, agitated and trying to get Harry to leave before a fight broke out between the two. "Harry, get up and let's go!" he urged, motioning frantically for Harry to follow him. He finally came over and put an arm on Harry's shoulder.

Harry's eyes opened as Ron, leaning over him in bed, shook him by the shoulder. "Come on, Harry, let's go."

Harry sat upright. "Go where?" he said sleepily.

"Today's the first round of the Vault Tournament," Ron said. "Jon's taking us, remember?"

Harry rubbed his face, trying to clear the cobwebs and fragments of his dream from his head. "I don't think Jon's going to want to see much of me after yesterday."

"No, it's cool," Ron said. "Hermione and I talked to him, he's okay with all of us going."

"'All of us?' " Harry repeated. "Who else is going?"

"Well… Hermione wants to go along too," Ron explained. "She wants to see what all the fuss is about. And –" he looked a bit sheepish. "– Ginny wants to go along too."

"Ginny –? Ron, you _didn't_ talk to her about what Jon said, did you?" Harry began warningly.

"No, nothing like that," Ron protested, putting up his hands. "Hermione and I saw her in the common room afterwards, when Jon wasn't around. I asked how things were going and she said she was a bit bored. Hermione said she was going with you, me and Jon to see the Vault Tournament tomorrow – today, I mean – and she's keen to go as well."

"But she's a sixth-year!" Harry protested.

"You know what, I told her the same thing, mate," Ron said with heavy irony. "But she wasn't having any of it. Said she'd walk straight into McGonagall's office and let it out about Jon's car if we didn't let her go along."

"You're joking!" Harry exclaimed. "She'd never do something like that!"

"Jon said that too," Ron said, now almost chuckling. "And she just gave him _that_ look. He said she could go, of course."

Harry stood, taking his glasses off his bedside cabinet, where he'd apparently laid them the night before, and looked down at himself. His clothes and robe were rumpled from sleeping in them all night. "I'll need to change before we go," he said.

"Nah, I've got it," Ron said, pulling his wand out. He murmured "_Spiffen_" as he moved his wand up and down along Harry's legs and torso. Harry's clothes instantly smoothed out, looking neatly pressed. "Hermione's used that on me a couple of times," he admitted as Harry examined himself. "I've used it myself when I'm in a hurry some mornings."

"Thanks," said Harry. "I'll have to remember that one."

They made their way down to the Great Hall, where breakfast was nearly over. Hermione, Ginny, Jon and, interestingly, Deirdre, were seated together at the Gryffindor table as Harry and Ron walked up, sat down, and tucked into breakfast.

Harry was ravenous this morning. He filled his plate with double portions of eggs and sausages and had several slices of toast with pumpkin juice to wash everything down. He even put a bowl of corn flakes on top of that. Beside him Ron was watching with frank curiosity: Harry was eating even more than him, for a change.

"A bit peckish, Harry?" Jon asked with a grin.

"I dunno why," Harry said between mouthfuls of eggs. "I had a pretty full dinner last night."

"Oi, that reminds me," Ron said suddenly, looking at him. "Where were you last night?"

"What do you mean? I was with you," Harry said without turning. "Then I went up to bed."

"I meant in the middle of the night. I got up to take a – well, to go to the loo, and your bed was empty."

Harry thought for a second. "I don't remember getting up. Maybe you looked in Dean or Seamus's bed by mistake."

"I think I know which bed you sleep in, Harry," Ron said irritably. "Oh, forget it."

"So how shall we work this?" Jon said, as both of them finally pushed away their plates.

"It seems perfectly simple," Hermione said quickly. "We seventh-years will sign out at the front door. Ginny can take the passage to the Shrieking Shack while we walk to Hogsmeade."

"How am I going to get into the secret passage?" Ginny objected. "The common room is going to be full all day."

"You can use the Invisibility Cloak," Harry said. "Damn! I didn't think to bring it with me!"

"We'd better hurry, whatever we do," Ginny said, looking at her watch. "It's after nine now. If it takes two-and-a-half hours to get there, we won't make it there until noon or after."

"It doesn't start until two," Hermione said, looking again at the Daily Prophet article.

"That still doesn't leave us much time," Harry said, thinking. "Okay, let's do this: Ginny and I will go by the passageway to the Shack. The rest of you sign out and head toward Hogsmeade. She and I'll knock on the door to your room when we get there, Jon."

"Right," said Jon. "Let's go." He, Hermione and Deirdre headed to the entrance of the Great Hall. Ron hung back for a second.

"D'you want me to go with you and Ginny, Harry?" he said, giving Harry a look that suggested he wanted Harry to say yes. Harry, however, shook his head.

"Nah, it'll be less crowded under the Cloak. Go on with the others, we'll see you there."

Ron nodded, not looking happy about Harry's reply, but jogged to catch up with the rest of the students now lining up to be signed out by Filch at the front entrance.

"Come on, then," Harry said to Ginny, not looking at her, as they walked up the Entrance Hall's staircase and from there up to Gryffindor Tower, where they gave the Fat Lady the password (_"chocolate gateau"_) and went up to Harry's dormitory.

He and Ginny walked in the door and were halfway to his trunk before Harry realized they weren't alone in the room. Neville Longbottom was there, sitting on his bed. Beside him was Luna Lovegood. Both of them were looking at Harry and Ginny in surprise.

"Oh, hi, Harry," Neville said, trying to sound casual and failing. "Hi, Ginny," he added, looking down. Luna just looked at both of them.

"Oh, hi," Harry said, looking at both of them carefully. Luna's eyes appeared even more prominent than before, brighter, as if they were wet. Had she been crying? "Sorry to interrupt. I just needed to get something out of my trunk."

"Your Invisibility Cloak?" Neville said abruptly. Harry looked at him. Neville's expression was shrewd. "Perhaps you and Ginny are going somewhere and you don't want anyone to see you."

"Er –" Harry began, but Ginny cut him off.

"Is that any of your business, Neville?" she said, hands on her hips and once again sounding very much like Mrs. Weasley. "Harry and I have some things to attend to and neither you nor anyone else needs to know about them until we tell you."

"You'll have to forgive Neville, Ginny," Luna said with a vague smile. "He still has a bit of a crush on you, you know."

_A crush on Ginny?_ Harry thought, perplexed. _When did that happen? And why haven't I ever heard about it until now?_

"Of course," Luna continued, giving Neville a reassuring smile. "That's something he'll get over eventually now that he's with me."

Ginny's stance had softened somewhat, and her next words didn't sound quite so stern as she had before. "Well. Good, then. I hope that works out for both of you. Really." She turned to Harry. "Did you get what you needed, Harry?" she said in a brisk, businesslike tone.

"Oh." Harry unlocked his trunk and pulled out the Invisibility Cloak, then relocked it. "See you," he said to Neville and Luna. Luna waved. Ginny stepped closer to him and Harry pulled the Cloak over both of them.

As they made their way down the stairs toward the common room, Harry whispered, "What was _that_ about?"

"I'll tell you in a minute," Ginny whispered back shortly. They made their way through the common room over to the fireplace. Harry cast _Muffliato_ on a few students who might glance over their way if the secret door creaked too loudly, then put his hand on the wall and said, "_Sudnallitit mauqnun sneimrod ocārd_" to open the door to the secret passageway. They quickly followed the spiral staircase down to the base of the tower, where Harry repeated the words for the passageway out onto the grounds. Still under the Cloak, they made their way over to the Whomping Willow, where Harry used the _Extendo_ spell to lengthen his wand and press the knot that momentarily froze the Willow. Ginny slid into the space between the roots, and Harry followed, dragging the Invisibility Cloak in behind him.

When he reached the bottom of the slide, Harry saw that Ginny was standing with the tip of her wand lit, illuminating the tunnel toward the Shrieking Shack. Standing, Harry was surprised to discover that the tunnel was now wide and tall enough to let him and Ginny walk normally. Lighting his own wand, Harry examined the walls of the tunnel. They were now very smooth and regular, not at all like the rough-hewn tunnel he'd become used to.

"Not too bad," Ginny said, wiping dirt off her robe. "Except for that first part."

"This isn't like it was," Harry told her. "This tunnel used to be much smaller. I think Jon must've gotten tired of crawling through it." They set out down the tunnel toward the Shrieking Shack.

"So… what's up with Neville and Luna?" Harry finally asked, after a minute or so of walking in silence. He wanted to ask her about Trelawney's third prediction, but he didn't want to spring it upon her all at once. With any luck this line of conversation would give him an opening.

She gave him a "who knows" look and said, "Just a row they've been having for about a month now, off and on, over how he's been acting."

"And how's that, other than cocky and self-satisfied?"

"Right," she chuckled. "I think Luna liked the quiet, somewhat insecure Neville better." Her smile faded. "Do you think Neville is being _too_ cocky or self-satisfied for his own good, Harry? Or is he just acting different than he did before and we don't know how to deal with it?"

Harry had to think about that for a few seconds. "I s'pose," he said finally, "I see what you mean. But it hasn't been easy talking with him this year. Almost everything he says and does has something to do with him defeating Voldemort."

"Yes," she nodded agreement. "It seems like he can't let anyone forget it, least of all himself. It's like he's obsessed with the idea."

"Or Imperiused," Harry murmured. Ginny looked at him quickly.

"Do you think that could be it, Harry? Could someone have put the Imperius Curse on him?"

The thought had seemed to come out of nowhere, but now that it had formed in Harry's brain it made a lot of sense. If Neville had been Imperiused, he would simply do what he'd been told to do by the witch or wizard who put him under the curse, until he either broke free or the person who cursed him released him, or died.

"It makes sense," Harry said. He saw a dim light ahead; they were approaching the rise that would take them into the Shrieking Shack. "But we should find out how to detect the curse, to see there's really one on him."

"We can probably ask Fred and George when we're in Diagon Alley," Ginny suggested.

"Right." They reached the rise and followed it up and through the hole into the Shrieking Shack.

Ginny looked around the room; she had never been inside the Shrieking Shack before. "What a mess," she said, wrinkling her nose. "This is worse than Grimmauld Place was. Sorry," she added, remembering too late who owned Grimmauld Place now that his godfather was dead.

"No big deal," Harry shrugged. "Through here," he said, pointing to the door, and they walked down the hallway to the back of the house and into the small room where a locked door would give them access to Jon's hidden garage and workroom.

Harry knocked on the door and a few seconds later Jon opened the door, letting them into the room with the others. Harry saw how everyone else had entered the room: the wall at the far end was still open. The cover was off the Corvette and Ron, Hermione and Deirdre were examining it excitedly.

"How fast did you say it will go, Jon?" Deirdre asked him. Harry caught Hermione rolling her eyes and shaking her head slightly; apparently Deirdre had asked that question a number of times already. Jon, however, didn't seem to mind.

"I've had it up to almost 300 m.p.h., but we'll only be going about 250 on our way to London," Jon answered with a smile. "Maybe a little faster – we can cut a few minutes off our trip time."

"Let's get going," Harry said. He hadn't gotten around to asking Ginny about Trelawney's prediction while in the tunnel and the moment had passed. Well, there would be other moments, he decided, as the group argued about who was sitting where in the car.

It took a minute or so of scrambling around before everyone had settled into a seat. Jon had insisted that Deirdre sit up front next to him, while Harry sat next to the passenger side window (or "shotgun" as Jon had called it); behind Jon was Hermione, with Ginny next to her and Ron next to her.

"Everybody ready?" Jon asked, looking back to see if everyone was seated. "Okay, hang on." He mashed the pedal down and the Corvette shot forward, pushing them back again their seats. Hermione and Ginny gasped, Ron shouted "Whoa!" and Deirdre laughed delightedly. As soon as they cleared the doorway Jon pulled back on the pitch lever and the car tilted upward, rapidly gaining altitude and pressing them even harder against their seats.

"Take it easy, Jon!" Harry said loudly. "What about the door?"

"Oh, yeah," Jon said. He pressed a button on the dashboard and glanced in the rearview mirror. "It's closing." Harry looked out the back of the vehicle; sure enough, the doorway in the back of the Shrieking Shack was closing steadily.

Jon put the car into a soft bank and it curved around slowly toward the south, still rising, until they could see Hogsmeade and Hogwarts castle out the right side windows. They were now several thousand feet up and the speedometer gauge was still increasing.

"How fast are we going?" Ron asked, watching the countryside fall farther and farther away under them.

"Just passing 200," Jon said, moving the pitch lever until they were flying level. They continued to accelerate until the speedometer gauge read 265 m.p.h. Jon had taken it up to 270 but the car had started to vibrate until he backed off a bit. He pressed a button underneath the clock, which promptly went black and then displayed a map of England.

"Autopilot," Jon said. "Destination: London, England; the Leaky Cauldron." There was a small chime and the word "autopilot" appeared in the instrument cluster.

"Well, we're set for the next few hours," Jon said, settling back and smiling at Deirdre.

"Jon! This is so exciting!" Deirdre said, leaning over to put her hand on Jon's leg, who put his hand on hers. Harry, turning to watch this, also caught a look between Hermione and Ginny. Their expressions were unreadable. Hermione glanced at Harry and gave him a look, touching her lips with a finger so he'd keep quiet.

The next few hours passed quickly as the six passengers chatted about school and Quidditch and various pairings at school so far that year. Ginny mentioned she'd seen Michael Corner around with Su Li now that Cho Chang had graduated. She'd also seen Romilda Vane talking to Dean Thomas a time or two. Harry smiled momentarily at this: Ginny had dated both Michael and Dean in the past.

"And what's going on with Neville and Luna these days?" Ron said, to no one in particular. "I've seen them eating together a time or two, when Neville can tear himself away from talking about his fight with You-Know-Who."

Harry glanced back at Ginny who, seeing him looking at her, tapped the side of her nose, looked at Ron and said, "You know, they might be breaking up." Harry blinked. What was Ginny playing at?

"Really?" Ron looked nonplussed.

"Well, I hear she has a crush on a certain tall, red-haired Gryffindor Keeper," Ginny said with a straight face.

Ron snorted and sat back in his seat. "Oh, rubbish," he said dismissively, then sat forward again. "Really?"

"Ron!" Hermione said reprovingly.

"Told you," Ginny said to Hermione. She turned back to Ron and said, "I was only joking, she and Neville are still together." _Probably still together_, Harry amended mentally, remembering their discussion in the dormitory earlier.

Soon they were flying over London, and Jon settled them down in one of the side streets a few blocks from the Leaky Cauldron, inside a small car park. As they were climbing out of the car, Jon walked over to the attendant's shed and paid for parking for the day, leaving the man there rather confused about how the Corvette had parked without him seeing it.

Making their way through the Leaky Cauldron, they entered Diagon Alley and proceeded past Gringotts Wizarding Bank, where the Mystery Vault sat in a roped-off area in front of the bank. There were goblins standing in front of the ropes, keeping people from approaching too closely. "Move along there, no dawdling," Harry heard one goblin growl at a passerby who lingered too long in front of the artifact. Ron was staring at it intently, barely moving as he took in every aspect of the walls, door, and markings. In fact, everyone was looking at it as they passed – even Harry caught himself thinking about what riches might be inside it.

They continued on to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes where Fred and George greeted them all heartily, including Deirdre, who was still a bit shy around people she didn't know, but was beaming and excited about what she described as her first flight and trip far from home. "I've never seen so many, uh, people walking around in one place!" she gushed, pointing out the window at Diagon Alley. "And they all have something to do here!"

"More or less," Fred agreed. "Although we'd like them to have more to do _here_ –" he spread his hands wide, indicating their shop "– than somewhere else, like Gambol and Japes."

"Where's Verity?" Ron asked, scanning the store for her.

"On lunch," George said, rejoining them from the back of the store, where he'd gone to grab a few items for restocking. "We expect to be busy just before and after the Tournament, what with people killing time before it begins and wanting to get some shopping in afterwards. The crowd for this is going to be huge."

"Have you talked to Bill lately?" Harry asked.

Both twins shook their heads. "He's been busy these last few weeks," Fred said, a bit sourly. "I think the goblins have got him doing all his normal work _and_ preparing for this Tournament as well, on his own time."

"Bill never does anything halfway," George added. "He wants to put on quite a show for this Tournament. And we – as merchants in Diagon Alley – very much appreciate the extra business it brings in."

"Are we ready to eat yet?" Ron suddenly complained, rubbing his stomach. "I'm famished!"

"I'd like to have a look in Flourish and Blotts before we go to the Tournament," Hermione said.

"And I need to pick up some pygmy puff feed at Magical Menagerie," Ginny added.

"We've got that _here_!" Fred objected. "You don't need to go buying from the competition!"

"They sell at a lower price than you do!" Ginny shot back.

"We'll price-match," George said quickly, before an affronted Fred could say anything else.

A discussion started about where to have lunch. Fred, still staring coolly at Ginny, gestured Harry and George toward the back room, where they went into the office.

"Wanted to mention something before you lot headed out for lunch," Fred said after the door was closed. "Ron wrote us about the stuff you and he found of our attempts to crack the Marauder's Map, and we had a brainwave a few days ago about it." Harry nodded, interested.

"We were thinking about one of those cheeky remarks it makes when you try revealment spells on it," George continued. "And we remembered _something_ about it."

"What?" Harry asked eagerly.

"Not much," Fred admitted. "It was that the remark about it being better to go into chartered accountancy than magic is a clue."

"A clue to do what?"

"Well, that's just it," George said with a shrug. "We don't remember _what_. That's the real poser about all this is: _why_ we can't remember what we did to solve the Map. It's pretty frustrating."

"Tell me about it," Harry said feelingly. "I felt that way wondering why you'd never let me in on how you'd solved it, before. Now I know why you didn't, but it's still a mystery _how_!"

There was a tap on the door. Harry turned around: through the glass, Ron was pointing at his mouth and making "hurry up" gestures at him. "Must be time to feed the tapeworm," Fred said.

"I didn't know ickle Ronnie had a tapeworm," George said.

"I wasn't referring to anything _inside_ 'im," Fred grinned. Harry smiled and shook his head.

"Thanks for the information," he said to the twins.

They set off for lunch, Hermione and Ginny apparently having decided on a place just beyond Gringotts where several types of food were served, including salads, which Deirdre had requested.

At the café, Harry told Ron and Jon what Fred and George had told him about the Marauder's Map. Ron didn't seem too keen to hear about it, as his mind was fixed on the Mystery Vault, but Jon listened intently, nodding as Harry related the twins' thoughts about the chartered accountancy remark.

"Considering how dull accounting is, to most people," Jon suggested, "I can see how it could be both a snarky remark and a clue. But how could a Hogwarts student study it?"

Harry didn't have an answer either. They ate their hamburgers and chips while Hermione, Ginny and Deirdre chattered away, the subjects changing so rapidly Harry stopped trying to follow their conversation.

Ron leaned in, motioning almost imperceptibly with one hand for Jon and Harry to come closer. "So what was that business of you and Deirdre holding hands earlier?" he asked, _sotto voce_.

The silence at the opposite side of the table was suddenly deafening: all three girls were looking at them. "What did you say about Deirdre, Ron?" Hermione queried.

"Ah – I just – wondered how Jon thought her Transfiguration classes were going now that he was helping her," Ron recovered.

"Why don't you ask her, then?" Ginny said bluntly.

"Didn't think I could slip a question into your conversation, actually," Ron said with a grin. Ginny and Hermione both snorted. Deirdre, looking back and forth between them, let out a loud snort as well. Harry, Ron and Jon all sat bolt upright.

"_That_ was impressive," Jon said in a surprised voice.

"Well, I can talk, too, you know," Deirdre said huffily. "I don't just walk around with my head in the clouds all the time."

"Could'a fooled me," Ron said, but quietly enough that only Harry heard.

Deirdre then went into a ten-minute speech about all the different problems she'd encountered in Transfiguration class and how Jon had helped her through each one. Some of the things he'd had trouble with were familiar to Harry; he'd had coaching from Hermione on the very same subjects, but Deirdre's delivery was like listening to Professor Binns lecture on the goblin rebellions of the 1600's.

At some point when Deirdre paused to consider the next problem she'd had, Hermione quickly suggested that they go shopping. Harry and Ron agreed vigorously, if only to stop the Transfiguration discussion; none of the boys were very interested in following Hermione and Ginny around while they shopped. For the sake of keeping everyone together, however, they said nothing.

Finally, after spending nearly an hour wandering around Flourish and Blotts, Hermione glanced at her watch and said, "I suppose we should be getting over to the bank."

Harry and Ron looked at each other, relieved. They'd only been suggesting leaving for the Tournament for the last fifteen minutes. They made their way back along Diagon Alley to Gringotts, where a large crowd was now gathered around an open area in front of the Mystery Vault. Off to one side was a platform with a podium and rows of wooden chairs. Apparently the chairs were for Tournament contestants; there were a few people seated there watching the crowd grow with varying degrees of nervousness.

As they got closer, Harry was startled to recognize one of the contestants: the old man with wide, pale eyes sitting in the chair nearest the podium was none other than Mr. Ollivander, the owner of Ollivander's Wand Shop, which had closed over a year ago after he had disappeared. No one had seen him again until now. Harry watched as the old man sat still, almost unblinking, waiting for the beginning of the Tournament.

Nudging Ron, he pointed toward Ollivander. "Huh," Ron said, squinting at the still figure on the podium. "It took something like this to bring him out of hiding, dinnit? Think he's got a chance?"

"Ron!" Harry exclaimed, surprised at his friend's attitude. "Is that all you're thinking of – whether he might open the Vault or not?"

"Well, he obviously hasn't come to any harm," Ron rationalized.

"That's not the point. Besides, we don't know anything about where he's been! He could've come to _some_ kind of harm, couldn't he?"

"Yeah," Ron said, shrugging. "Okay, _sorry_."

Immediately Harry regretted blowing up at Ron, but his selfish attitude about the Mystery Vault and gold in general had begun to irritate Harry. Seeing Bill Weasley walk out onto the platform at that moment, he decided to drop the issue. "Let's go see if we can get close enough to say hi to Bill," he said to the group in general, and they inched their way around the periphery of the crowd toward the platform.

Bill stepped up to the podium, placing his wand against his throat and saying something in a normal tone which Harry guessed was the word "_Sonorous_," then continued with his voice magically amplified. "Welcome, everyone. Our First Round of the Mystery Vault Tournament will begin in just a few more minutes." He tapped his throat again, then turned and walked towardFleur, who Harry now noticed was standing off to one side. Bill's face, disfigured from an attack by Fenrir Greyback the year before, made him look rather alarming, but he still had an easy and winning manner and could still be considered quite "cool" – almost more so now since his features were a badge of honor, a mark of his involvement in the Second War with Voldemort.

Bill and Fleur were still talking when the group sidled up to them and waited to be noticed. "Your guess is as good as mine, sweetheart," Bill was saying to Fleur. "We tried everything we could but this nut just wouldn't crack. Hey –" Bill did a double-take as he suddenly recognized two red-haired people in the crowd milling about as his youngest brother and only sister. "– Ron and Ginny! What a surprise! And Harry, and Hermione too!" He shook Ron's hand as he gave Ginny a tight one-armed hug, then greeted Hermione and Harry as well. "I heard Hogwarts was granting seventh-years liberty on the weekend," he said, giving Ginny a knowing look. "Did Mum forget to mention you'd skipped a grade ahead or something?"

"Don't be smart," Ginny said, feigning disappointment. "I told McGonagall I couldn't miss my oldest brother refereeing the Vault Tournament and now he thinks I'm skipping school." Bill laughed.

"Harry!" Fleur said, stepping forward to give him a quick hug then stepping back and beaming at him. "It's so good to see you today! 'Ow – _How_ is my English sounding?"

"Very good," Harry said, impressed. "You've been practicing a lot?"

"Well, I 'ave no choice," she said, looking ruefully at Bill. "All of my bosses speak only English or Gobbledegook, so I make do with the lesser of two evils. So to speak," she added with a smile.

Bill glanced at his watch. "I've got to run, it's almost time to begin. Will you be around afterwards? Maybe we can chat for a bit."

Harry shrugged and nodded. Bill kissed Fleur quickly then ascended the platform to the podium. Fleur waved to them and disappeared back into the bank. They were off to one side of the Mystery Vault but were fairly close and could still see the entire front of the vault; their location was excellent for watching the contestants.

"Good afternoon to you all," Bill's amplified voice boomed out over the crowd. "Welcome to Round One of the Gringotts Mystery Vault competition!" The crowd began applauding and Bill put up a hand for silence. "We think you'll see some exciting magic today as our contestants endeavor to solve the secret of opening the Vault before your very eyes."

Bill held up a bronze token that was nearly palm-sized. "Each of our competitors has paid his entrance fee of 100 Galleons and has been given one of these Vault Tournament token, which enables the bearer to take part. When their name is called, each contestant will place his token into this –" Bill waved his wand and in a puff of smoke a large hourglass appeared on a pedestal next to the podium as the crowd gasped. "This is the official timekeeper of the Vault Tournament. When a token is inserted into this slot," Bill pointed to the base of the hourglass, "They will be given 30 minutes in which to try to solve the secret of the Vault. When the door is opened, I, as referee, will declare the Tournament at an end and the competitor will be awarded all the contents of the Vault – minus a five percent finder's fee to be paid to Gringotts Wizarding Bank, as per the official rules.

"Each of the contestants has been given a set of the full rules and conditions of the contest, and has signed a binding magical agreement to abide by those rules.

"Now," Bill said, turning to the row of chairs beside the podium. "Without further ado, let us meet our first competitor, Mr. Armandus Ollivander!"

The crowd cheered and applauded. Harry watched as Mr. Ollivander stood slowly and walked over to join Bill at the hourglass. Producing his token from a robe pocket, Ollivander held it out to Bill, who pointed to the slot on the hourglass's base and said, "Whenever you're ready, Mr. Ollivander, just drop it in the slot. You'll have 30 minutes after that to try and get the Vault open."

Ollivander nodded and slowly pushed the token into the slot. The hourglass flipped over and Bill said loudly, "The First Round has begun! Good luck, Mr. Ollivander!"

Whatever Harry or the crowd had been expecting, it seemed that Mr. Ollivander had his own methods of trying to determine how to open the vault. He spent several minutes simply walking around the Vault, waving his wand at it from time to time and stopping to study it minutely at different points. By his third circuit around the Vault he was tapping and feeling it at various points, drawing jeers from the crowd. At some point Bill announced, "Fifteen minutes." The crowd was calling out for Ollivander to stop feeling around the Vault but Harry knew he was using a valid method of examining it from his recollection of Dumbledore's techniques while trying to locate one of Voldemort's Horcruxes.

When Bill looked at the hourglass and announced "Five minutes," Mr. Ollivander made his way back to the front of the Vault. The crowd fell mostly silent, watching him as he moved his wand slowly back and forth in front of him. Harry could see him muttering to himself, too softly to be overheard.

Things began to move on the front of the Vault. As Ollivander's wand flicked to the right or left, the knob on its front would turn clockwise or anti-clockwise, and in the four-by-four grid different squares would move up or down, left or right. Harry could see no rhyme or reason to these motions. He glanced at Ron, who seemed nearly transported at the Vault's mechanisms. He looked over at Hermione, then Jon, but both were absorbed in watching the spectacle as well.

There was a gasp from the crowd and Harry looked back quickly, but whatever had happened, he'd missed it. "What happened?" he whispered to Hermione.

"One of the squares rotated instead of sliding to a new position," she whispered back. "I've never seen a magic square do something like that!"

Bill had just stepped forward to announce one more minute left when there was a loud _clunk_ from the Vault. Mr. Ollivander turned to Bill, nodding, who announced, "It appears Mr. Ollivander is ready to attempt to open the Vault. Everyone, quiet please!"

Ollivander stepped up to the Vault, grasping the handle firmly and twisting it downward. There was a loud CLICK but, instead of the door opening, there was a burst of dazzling light, forcing everyone to shield their eyes.

As the light died away, there were several gasps and screams from the crowd. Mr. Ollivander stood, now seemingly paralyzed, as he had at the moment the handle clicked into place. Bill stepped over quickly, passing his wand over Ollivander's still form a few times, then signaling the emergency team from St. Mungo's, standing nearby, to take over. They rushed in, forming a cordon around him, and one of them took out a small object, a statue of St. Mungo, and held it so the others could touch it. In a few seconds they all disappeared, taking Ollivander with them.

"That was exciting, wasn't it?" Bill's amplified voice resounded again over the crowd. "He'll be okay, everyone; his pulse was very slow but steady when the St. Mungo's team checked it.

"This is the kind of thing we've come to expect from old vaults like this one. Very well protected, very powerful enchantments. And that means that there's probably something very important and valuable inside it."

Bill had stepped back to the podium. "Let's continue with our next contestant, Mr. Trevor Nott. If you're ready, sir."

There was a shout from someone in the crowd. "Go, Uncle Trevor!" Spotting the person who'd shouted, Harry saw that it was Theodore Nott, a Slytherin in Harry's year who wasn't one of Malfoy's cronies. Along with most of Slytherin house this year, he was on the outs with Malfoy now. He'd apparently made his way to Diagon Alley to watch his uncle attempt to open the Vault. Harry didn't see any other Slytherins nearby.

Trevor Nott, who'd been sitting next to Mr. Ollivander in the row of chairs next to the podium, had stood and walked swaggeringly to join Bill beside the hourglass. He was thin and weedy, like his nephew, with his long, dark hair tied behind his head. "If that old man hadn't been in the Bank when the Tournament had been announced," he drawled in a tone somewhere between bored and irritated. "This farce would have been over a half-hour ago." He slipped his token into the hourglass's base then turned and walked over in front of the Vault, wasting no time in casting various spells at the Vault.

Unlike Ollivander, however, Nott's spells seemed much more aggressive and forceful. "He's going right after it," Harry heard Jon mutter to Deirdre. "I think he's going to try and crack it rather than open it."

That's how it seemed to Harry as well. The crowd gasped at the various pyrotechnics Nott's wand produced. He seemed to be searching for the Vault's weak spot.

Ron turned to Harry. "D'you think he'll be able to break in? I thought they had to try and _open_ the Vault!"

"I don't think it matters how they get it open, as long as it gets opened," Harry surmised.

Jon had heard them. "The contestant just has to get the door unlocked and open, by any means possible," he said. Bill announced at that moment that fifteen minutes were left.

Only a few minutes later Nott turned to Bill and said shortly, "Ready."

"Everyone," Bill addressed the crowd, which quieted down immediately. "Mr. Nott is ready to attempt to open the Vault. Everyone remain quiet, please."

Nott had taken up position about ten feet directly in front of the Vault. He made several intricate motions with his wand while mouthing words under his breath. A faint green glow began to emanate from the Vault door hinges. The glow became brighter and brighter, almost too intense to look at. Harry and the others with him shielded their eyes, as did many of the crowd.

Suddenly the green glow rebounded from the hinges to surround Nott himself, who screamed in pain as his arms and legs were twisted around behind him, leaving his fingertips touching the opposite shoulder and his feet resting near the back of his neck as he fell, face-first, onto the ground. There were screams and shouts from the crowd, including Theodore Nott, who seemed horrified to watch his uncle nearly snapped in half.

This time the St. Mungo's team didn't even wait for Bill's signal; they quickly surrounded Nott and whisked him away.

"I expect that _had_ to hurt," Bill said, but sounding more amused than sympathetic. "We never know how aggressive these old defensive spells are going to react. It appeared that Mr. Nott's Unhinging Charm was rebounded onto him. His arms and legs were broken but hopefully, St. Mungo's staff will put him right as rain in short order."

Bill stepped back to the podium, noting that the third chair was empty. "I hope our next contestant is available –" Bill hesitated as he looked at the name, then looked around. "Is Baron Hemo von Rougeford – er, deceased, here?"

"Deceased?" Someone in the crowd said, shrilly "Wha'choo mean – like, _dead_?"

"Dead, but not departed," a voice said. The crowd's attention shifted, and Harry and the others turned to see two pale, silvery-white figures glide through the front wall of the Bank.

Harry recognized both of them immediately. The one who had spoken, well known to him and most other Gryffindor students, was their own House-ghost, Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, or as he was more familiarly known, "Nearly-Headless Nick." Nick was dressed in his usual doublet, plumed hat, and ruffled tunic.

The other, a grim, silent figure whose clothing was covered in silvery bloodstains, was none other than the Bloody Baron, the Slytherin House-ghost. As they glided by, Nick, seeing Harry, touched his hat momentarily with a nod to acknowledge him.

"Good afternoon," Nick said, a bit nervously as they glided up to stand next to Bill in front of the hourglass. "Sorry not to be out here with the rest of you, but we didn't want to cause any unnecessary excitement."

"I see," Bill said. "It's quite an honor to have both of you gentlemen here all the way from Hogwarts. Do you have your token?"

"I trust," Nick said smoothly, "that you were given an envelope earlier with the name 'von Rougeford' on it? It will be in there."

Bill reached into his pocket and pulled out a heavy envelope. Opening it, he took out the token and held it up for Hick and the Baron to see. The Baron nodded slowly.

"If you would do the honors, my good man?" Nick gestured to the hourglass. Bill slid the token into the slot at the base. The remaining crystals in the top suddenly shot though the opening into the bottom, and the hourglass tipped itself over, beginning another 30 minutes.

At once the Baron glided quietly and surely to one side of the Vault and promptly passed through its walls. Immediately, the fourth contestant, a portly, bespectacled wizard and the fifth, a thin, lanky one, were on their feet. "Foul!" cried the fourth wizard. "What good could _anything_ that might be in the Vault do a dead person, ghost or not?"  
"He cannot claim anything in that Vault once he comes out!" the fifth wizard was protesting. "The rules are specific!"

"The rules are quite specific," Bill agreed genially. "The door must be unlocked and the contents accessible to any being outside the Vault. There is no rule that states that the door must be unlocked from the _outside_, however."

"But what does a ghost need with what's in there?" the fourth contestant demanded.

"I should think that's their business, not yours, sir," Bill said, annoyance creeping into his tone. "Gringotts has determined that ghosts who are capable of handling their own affairs have the right of personal ownership, including vaults at Gringotts."

"Ghosts got gold?" someone in the crowd wondered aloud, and there was a general murmuring over this.

Nick, who had floated nervously backwards during this exchange, was near Harry and Ron. "Nick," Harry whispered. "Why is the Bloody Baron doing this?"

"Oh." Nick looked a little flustered. "Well, he's been agitated for some time about the paucity of rights we ghosts are given in the Wizarding world."

"_Paucity of rights?_" Ron said incredulously. "You're all stone _dead_!"

"But not departed," Nick reminded him with a raised finger. "We have no representative within the Ministry, for example."

"Yes, you do!" Ron objected. "The Spirit Division of the Magical Creatures Department!"

"You call that 'representation,' do you?" Nick snorted. His head jiggling dangerously; he put up a hand to steady it and continued, "A _liaison_ is not a _representative_. In any case our input on matters is seldom, if ever, solicited. The Baron feels that if there is anything of value in the Vault, we may as well find a use for it as anyone. Now, if you'll excuse me," Nick finished, his tone dripping with indignation, and he glided off to wait near Bill and the hourglass.

"Touchy," Ron said as Harry looked at him with some disapproval.

"Well, he has a point," Harry said thoughtfully. "We don't think much about how ghosts get along with the rest of us living, do we?" Ron said nothing.

Several minutes passed.

"What's he _doing_ in there?" Ron whispered to Harry.

"Maybe he's having a nice game of Exploding Snap with Professor Binns," Harry said irritably. "_I_ don't know what he's doing!"

"Five minutes," Bill announced to the crowd, then turned to Nearly Headless Nick. His voice was no longer amplified, but Harry was close enough to hear him say, "If he opens it after time expires, Nick, it won't count. In fact, we'll probably have to discontinue the Tournament."

"I'm just hoping nothing has gone wrong," Nick said, looking worried. "The Baron thought he would open the Vault long before this."

Suddenly there was a loud, horrible moan that caused everyone to flinch back. It seemed to come from everywhere. A transparent arm thrust itself through one side of the Vault, followed by the Baron's head. He moaned again, and people clapped their hands to their ears, including Ginny, Hermione and Deirdre.

The Baron toppled over on his side, his silvery transparent form still half-inside the Vault. He looked at Nearly Headless Nick, and his mouth opened. "_Nicholas_," he said, his voice, his voice a deep, hoarse rasp, sounding indeed as if it came from beyond the grave. "_Help…me…_"

Nick glided hurriedly over to the prone form, taking his arms and pulling him slowly away from the Vault until his thin, pale legs were clear of the side of the Vault. Slowly, the Baron regained his feet, but stood, unsteady and swaying, supported by Nick, who was examining him carefully to see that every part of him was still attached. "Are you alright, Baron," Harry heard him inquire in a low voice.

"_Home_," the Baron said in a raspy whisper.

Nick nodded and, turning to Bill, said, "Thank you for the opportunity," then he and the Baron glided off into the walls of Gringotts Bank.

"I think that was the first time I've ever heard the Baron say anything," Hermione said, almost to herself.

"It was the first time _anyone's_ heard him speak," Bill, having heard her comment, said. "At least, anyone who's not already a ghost." He held up his hands for silence. The crowd was quite loud now, excited about what they'd seen. Amplifying his voice again, Bill said. "Folks, this certainly is an exciting first round! Even _I_ have to admit that, and I've been a Curse-breaker for almost ten years now and have seen some pretty amazing stuff!

"For our next contestant –" Bill turned to the row of chairs, but the fourth wizard was shaking his head and waving off Bill's introduction "– our next contestant is waiving his turn, it seems. Let me remind you at this time that every contestant has the right to waive his turn and be moved to the end of the queue, where he can still try his hand at the Vault if the opportunity comes up, as long as the game token is retained to start the timer. Without a game token, however, you cannot play."

"Our next contestant – ah, I see our next contestant has waived his turn as well. Well, folks, that's all the contestants we have on hand today, and that brings us to the end of Round One. I'd like to remind you that Round Two will begin two weeks from today, and if it's anything like today we'll likely see some amazing things. So, I bid you all a good day and pleasant weekend!" Bill tapped his throat again and sighed, noisily but no longer magically amplified.

The crowd began to disperse. Harry and the others watched it slowly thin out around them. Bill directed a few goblins in moving the chairs, Vanished the podium and the hourglass then came over to chat.

"Well, what did you think of the First Round?" he asked of no one in particular.

"It was pretty impressive," Jon said. "You did a good job of keeping it running smoothly.'

"Thanks, er – I don't think I've caught your name," Bill said, looking at Jon inquiringly.

"Jonathan Crown," Jon said, holding out his hand for Bill to shake. "From the United States," he added.

"Thought I recognized that accent," Bill said, shaking his hand. "I heard that Hogwarts had set up an exchange student program when it reopened. Are you one?"

"One of two there this year," Jon nodded. "And here's the other one," he pointed to the girl standing next to him. "This is Miss Deirdre Recaunt, from a small magic community near Hogwarts."

"A pleasure to meet you, Miss Recaunt," Bill smiled and gave her a small bow. She smiled shyly and blushed in return.

He turned to Ron. "So how was the trip here, then? Not too rough, I hope?"

Ron shrugged. "Not too bad, I s'pose. The worst part was the few blocks we had to walk from the car park."

"Car park?" Bill laughed. "Why'd you Apparate into one of those?"

"Apparate? No, we – er –" Ron stopped unsure what to say.

Harry didn't hesitate, however, knowing that Bill was more like Fred and George than their brother Percy in his attitude toward Wizarding law. "Actually, Bill, Jon here has a car that we all drove down in, a 1966 Corvette that he's modified to fly, like your Dad did that old Ford Anglia."

A crooked grin split Bill's face. "Ah. Sounds like a treat, then. How long does the trip take?"

"A couple of hours," Jon said. "Two-and-half at most."

Bill looked at his watch and shook his head. "Well, I hate to tell you, but it's half-past three now. Sorry, I thought you all Apparated in. I forgot you had Ginny with you."

Harry glanced at his watch. "Oh, blimey," he said softly. "We've got to go! Everybody who signed out has to sign in by six o'clock or they get points taken off, or detention, or both! Jon!"

Jon hustled over. "Yeah, I know, I was about to say something. Look, you get everybody headed that way. I'm going to get the car and meet you in front of the Leaky Cauldron." Harry nodded curtly and Jon ran off toward the exit.

Harry got Hermione, Ginny and Deirdre heading toward the exit with orders to wait out in front of the Leaky Cauldron for Jon. Ron had got off somewhere, Harry hadn't seen which way. He was looking around wildly for him when two wizards standing near the Mystery Vault walked away and Ron was revealed, staring in fascination at the artifact.

"Oi! Ron!" Harry bellowed. "Get a move on, we gotta go!" Ron turned, looking at Harry with a frown then jogged over.

"I swear, Harry, there's something familiar about that thing –"

"Not _now_, Ron! We've got to get back to Hogwarts before 6 p.m.!" They both sprinted down Diagon Alley, dodging through the crowds of people still milling about after the Vault Tournament.

Exiting through the archway, they dashed through the Leaky Cauldron and out the front door. There was no sign of the girls or the car, and Harry was about to panic when a car door suddenly appeared out of nowhere; Jon, pointing his wand at the door, was frantically motioning them to get in.

They both piled into the passenger bucket seat, Ron first then Harry; the seat magically expanded to accommodate them both, and Harry pulled the door closed as Jon mashed the accelerator and pulled back on the pitch lever just as a young man walked out of the record store and was treated to the sight of two teenaged boys flying past a car door which then twisted up and into the air as it disappeared. He stared, quite keenly, into the sky for several minutes before deciding not to stop round his local pub that night.

Jon put the car into a rapid climb, turning as soon as they cleared nearby buildings toward the north and Hogwarts, and accelerating until the car began to rattle softly. "We have a bit of headwind," he said shortly. "I can't go any faster than this."

"Will we make it?" Hermione said nervously.

"I think so," Jon said, looking at the reading on the clock face that doubled as his GPS display. "It's going to be close."

"How close?" Ginny asked.

"As close as the hair of your chinny-chin-chin close," Jon said with a thin smile.

"Well, I don't have any hair on my chin," Ginny said curtly, "thank you very much! How close?"

"Well, who put a bee in your bonnet?" Jon said, turning around to look at her. "You're not even signed out, so what difference does it make to you?"

"I don't want any of my friends getting in trouble," Ginny shot back. "Why weren't you paying attention to the time?"

"I was," Jon said, no longer smiling. "But I didn't expect the damned headwind to come up."

"Alright, don't worry about it," Harry said loudly. "We'll deal with it when we get there."

The trip back to Hogwarts was much quieter than the one down to London.

By the time Hogwarts came into view in the distance it was only ten minutes before six p.m., not nearly enough time for them to walk back to the school from Hogsmeade. Jon, however, solved part of that handily. He set the Corvette down on the road between Hogsmeade Station and the town itself, speeding invisibly toward the front gates of the school.

A short distance from the gates he brought the car to a skidding stop. "Okay, everyone run for the door!" Harry and Ron piled out of the front door to let the girls in back out. "Ginny!" Jon said as she climbed out, "stay in! I'll drop you off near the south side of the castle."

"I can do it," Ginny protested. "You don't need to drive me!"

"You won't be invisible," Harry said. "Come on!"

Ginny hesitated a moment, then turned and jumped back inside the car with Harry and Jon. Jon put the car in the air again and flew over the wall, heading south along the east side of the grounds. Suddenly he cursed.

"What is it?" Harry asked, concerned.

"It won't stay in the air!" Jon gritted. "There must be an anti-flying enchantment over the school grounds!"

There was, Harry suddenly remembered. When he and Dumbledore had flown back to the castle from Hogsmeade in June, Dumbledore had temporarily lifted the restriction so they could fly onto the Astronomy Tower. "Sorry, I forgot about it too!" he said. There was a jolt as the car landed jarringly on the ground. They were still rolling, however, at impressive speed – directly at the Whomping Willow.

"Jon, I'd avoid that tree if I were you," Harry said quickly, looking ahead of them. "It doesn't much care for cars getting near it…"

"I see it," Jon said, twisting the wheel. The car turned into a wide circle around the Willow, still invisible, and made for the garden that was due east of the castle. He pulled up just short of the garden, where there was a short divide between it and the castle where she could make her way around to Gryffindor Tower.

"I don't see anyone about," Harry said, scanning the area keenly for any movement. He looked at Ginny. "Off you go, then. If you can, run down to the front entrance and greet them as they come in. Act disappointed, it'll throw off suspicion. I hope," he added.

"Okay. Thanks, Jon, for letting me come with you," she said, throwing Jon a nod. And thanks, Harry." She suddenly leaned forward and kissed him.

"What was that for?" Harry asked, bemused.

"Because I wanted to," she replied with a broad smile. With a wave she jumped out of the car and ran along the castle wall until the greenhouse walls hid her from view.

"Now what?" Harry asked as he pulled the door shut again. It was nearly six o'clock.

"I dunno," Jon said, frowning. "I've got to get out of this anti-flying enchantment, but it's probably on the entire school grounds."

"Not all," Harry said suddenly. "The Quidditch pitch!"

"Oh yeah! D'oh!" Jon said, turning the car around and heading north again. They avoided the Whomping Willow once again then turned northwest toward the pitch, crossing the road that ran between the castle and the front gates.

"I hope there's a bit of slack in that anti-flying charm," Jon said as they sped toward the pitch. "I don't want to have to drive onto the pitch itself.

When they were within 50 yards of the pitch the Corvette suddenly angled into the air. "Good!" Jon said. "Hang on!" He cleared the wall with bare feet to spare and within another minute was pulling into his garage in the Shrieking Shack. They jumped out of the car and headed for the door, stopping only long enough for Jon to make it disappear into the wall again before they made their way down the hallway and slipped into the passage between the Shack and the Whomping Willow, both lighting their wands.

"Nice change to the passage," Harry remarked as they both walked quickly along the tunnel. "It makes this trip quite a bit easier."

"Thanks," Jon said. "I was getting tired of crawling back and forth through this tunnel."

They reached the other end in short order and Harry ascended the slope first, holding his Invisibility Cloak at the ready. He poked his head and shoulders out of the gap between the roots, pushed the knot that paralyzed the Willow, then he and Harry climbed out under the cover of the Cloak and made their way toward the greenhouse and garden. After they had passed over the pathway between the castle and the greenhouse Jon whispered, "I think we can risk the rest of the way without the Cloak, what do you say?"

Harry shrugged. Only Hagrid, if he happened to be south of the greenhouse as well, might see them… and it was nearly dusk as well. "Why not?" He folded up the Cloak and they jogged around the south side of the castle to the base of Gryffindor Tower, where Jon recited the phrase that granted them entrance to the spiral passage up to the Gryffindor common room, where they again went under the cloak and passed into the common room itself. From there Jon pointed toward the exit; he and Harry pushed open the portrait and made their way down the corridor until no one else was around.

As Harry put away the Cloak this time, Jon said, "I have to get my name in the sign-out book somehow." He and Harry ran down to the Entrance Hall, where the book stood on a desk near the front doors. No one else was around.

Jon walked up to the book and flipped it open, turning to the current date. As he dipped a handy quill in the inkwell, however, a growling voice behind Harry barked, "Here now, what d'you think you're doing there?" They both turned to see Mr. Filch, the caretaker, shuffling toward them, his jowls quivering with rage. "Get away from that book!"

"Sorry, sir," Jon said apologetically, "I forgot to sign back in when I arrived back from liberty."

Filch snorted. "Liberty! Huh!" he wheezed, eyeing Jon intently. "I don't remember seeing you come in from liberty this evening," he said suspiciously.

"Well, that was my fault," Jon explained. "I had to go to the little boys' room very badly and just couldn't hold it any more."

Filch was now giving him a calculating look. "How do I know that you didn't just come in late, then, and are trying to sign the book to avoid detention?"

"Well… because the front doors are locked and I couldn't get in now if I wanted to," Jon said matter-of-factly.

"Is that your only excuse?" Filch growled.

"What more does he need?" Harry cut in, trying to sound properly outraged at Filch's questioning. "I was in the restroom too and we talked for a few minutes before he remembered he hadn't signed in."

Filch's lip curled. "Which boys' room was it, then?"

"Er –" Harry said.

But Jon answered instantly. "The one near the Gryffindor common room on the seventh floor."

Filch laughed, a nasty cackle. "You mean to say you had to go so bad you couldn't sign in first, but you walked all the up to the seventh floor to get to a loo? What kind of idiot do you take me for?"

"I think that question is best left unanswered, Mr. Filch," a new voice said, and the hackles on Harry's neck stood on end as he recognized it as Snape's.

"Professor Snape!" Filch's tone suggested he was as unhappy about Snape's presence as Harry was; however, Filch wasn't about to pass up an opportunity to put someone on detention. "I believe we have a student here who's violated liberty."

"Do we?" Snape's oily tones dripped malice. "Still up to your old tricks, Potter, of corrupting students who cross your path?"

Harry said nothing, merely looked at Snape with deep loathing.

"So, Crown," Snape said, fixing Jon with his black, piercing eyes. "What do you have to say for yourself? Did you violate your liberty?"

"No, sir," Jon said. "I simply forgot to sign the book when I returned."

"An unfortunate oversight," Snape said with air of a predator closing in on its prey. "And the reason for that oversight is – ?"

"I had to go to the rest room," Jon finished.

"I see." Snape looked at Jon for several moments, then turned to Harry. "Do you have anything to add to this unlikely little tale, Potter?"

"No," Harry said curtly.

"He said they were together in the restroom," Filch piped up.

"Well, is that true, Mr. Potter?"

"No, it's not," Jon said. Harry looked quickly at Jon, who continued, "I was actually back in the Gryffindor common room for some time before I remembered I'd forgotten to sign in. Harry was in there as well, and he accompanied me down in case I needed an alibi for not returning as quickly as I might to sign the log book."

"I see," Snape said again, clearly unconvinced. "Is that how you recall things as well now, Potter?"

"Yes," said Harry, keeping his thoughts as neutral and calm as possible.

Snape looked narrowly at both Jon and Harry. After some time, apparently coming across nothing he found incriminating in either Harry or Jon's thoughts, he said to Jon, "Sign the log book, Mr. Crown. Be sure to note the _current_ time logged in, 6:14 p.m." He stepped up after Jon had finished signing in and scribbled his own initials next to Jon's, then turned back to them. "Twenty points from Gryffindor for signing in late, Mr. Crown. _Don't_ let it happen again." Snape spun around, his black robe billowing behind him, and strode from the entrance hall. Filch, muttering darkly about proper detentions and how today's students got off with entirely too little torture, disappeared as well, leaving Harry and Jon alone.


	19. Bedposts and Broomsticks

Chapter 19

**Bedposts And Broomsticks**

Jon wasn't around the next day, and Harry didn't know whether he was off in the Shrieking Shack or somewhere else. He looked for Deirdre in the Great Hall during lunch but Luna said she'd left right after breakfast.

Aware that Luna was a bit sensitive to gossip, having been the subject of much idle chatter, even from Hermione when they first met her several years before, Harry nevertheless ventured to ask her, "So have you heard anything about her and Jonathan Crown lately? Are they, erm –"

"Snogging?" Luna suggested.

"Something like that," Harry nodded.

"Well, I heard this morning that they were seen holding hands; where, I don't know," Luna said, looking around, vaguely, as if she expected Deirdre to turn up at any moment.

Harry was surprised. He hadn't expected either Hermione or Ginny to spread that around so quickly. "Who told you?"

"What?" Luna said, as if she'd forgotten what they were talking about. "Oh – I'm sorry, Harry, I'm just… worried about Neville, I suppose…"

"What's wrong with Neville?" Harry asked quickly. In spite of not caring too much for Neville's bluster these days, he was still a fellow Gryffindor and Harry had known him practically since their first days at Hogwarts together.

Luna didn't speak for some time. Harry was beginning to wonder if she'd forgotten who she'd been talking about, but suddenly she looked at him and said, "He's talking to other girls."

"Oh." That brought Harry up short. "Er, that sounds rather normal to me."

"I know that doesn't sound disturbing to you," Luna continued, looking away from him, her face uncharacteristically sad and lonely. "But it's not really normal for Neville. Since we've been together I've hardly seen him look at another girl, much less carry on a conversation with a group of them. About me," she added softly.

Harry tried to recollect when he'd ever seen Neville talking with a _girl_, _any_ girl. Of course he _had_; it just wasn't something he thought about much. And now to hear from Luna that he was discussing her with other girls… "You mean, he talks about you and him with other girls?" Harry ventured.

Luna looked at him and shook her head slowly and sadly. Tears were gathering in her large eyes, making them appear even more pronounced than usual. "I'm sorry, Harry," she said, wiping them away with one hand. "I'm not trying to lay my problems at your feet. I shouldn't have said anything. Excuse me." She stood and walked away, out of the Great Hall.

Harry rejoined Ron and Hermione at the Gryffindor table. "What happened, Harry?" Hermione asked, watching Luna as she passed through the doors to the Entrance Hall. "Luna looked upset."

"She's upset about Neville," Harry said as he began getting his breakfast. "She doesn't think he's acting normally lately."

"That sort of seems like the pot calling the kettle black," Ron said, looking amused. "I mean, she _was_ wearing a cork necklace just now, wasn't she?"

"Ron, stop being a git," Hermione said sternly. Ron fell into a sullen silence. "What Neville doing that's upsetting her, Harry?"  
"Well, talking to other girls, she says."

"Oh." Hermione fell silent for a moment; Ron was looking at askance at her with half a smirk on his face.

"About her," Harry finally added.

"Aha!" Hermione looked both vindicated and concerned. "That doesn't sound at all like Neville, Harry," she said, throwing a frown at Ron.

"Ginny and I were talking about it the other day," Harry remembered. "I suggested that he might have been Imperiused, and she agreed with me."

"It'll be hard to tell if he's been Imperiused," Hermione said, thinking out loud to herself.

"Magic always leaves traces," Harry said, remembering something Dumbledore had told him in the cave where they'd found the fake Horcrux. "Professor Dumbledore told me that."

"Well it might've, for _him_," Hermione said, archly. "But _he_ had a lot more experience than we have, didn't he?"

"That's true," Harry agreed. He wondered if Fred and George might know something about magical detection Hermione didn't know, or wasn't sharing with him.

Hermione got to her feet, picking up her book bag, and Ron did the same.

"Where're you two off to?" Harry asked.

"Some research in the Library," Hermione said. "There _must_ be a way to detect if someone's been Imperiused, especially since so many Death Eaters claimed they were Imperiused by You-Know-Who after his first disappearance."

"Want to join us?" Ron asked. He had a pleading look on his face, but Harry shook his head.

"In a while," he said. "I've got some things to think about."

While he was thinking of it, Harry wrote a quick note to Fred and George, asking them if they had any ideas on magical revealment spells, and ran up to the Owlery to send it. He talked softly with Hedwig for a minute, stroking her feathers and promising her a piece of toast upon her return, then sent her on her way.

Afterwards, not quite ready to rejoin Hermione and Ron, he wandered out onto the school grounds, strolling aimlessly along until he found himself near the Quidditch pitch. It reminded him that Gryffindor needed more practice; their first game was only six weeks away and they'd only been out a handful of times so far. He walked over and sat against one of the walls of the broom shed, out of sight of the school, thinking about Quidditch training. If Jon was going to come through with brooms for them, Harry thought, he should probably get on with completing them rather than running off to who knows where with Deirdre Recaunt.

_Why shouldn't he be able to do that_, the voice in the back of his head piped up. _After all, you lost valuable time with Ginny doing things for others_. That was different, he reminded himself. He _wanted_ to help Dumbledore find the Horcrux; and the fight between him and Malfoy, that got him detention for most of last May and June, and cost him time with Ginny, well – that had been something almost beyond his control. _Except for hitting Malfoy with _Sectumsempra, the voice said.

The sound of boots tramping across grass brought him out of his reverie, and Harry glanced around the edge of the broom shed, then quickly ducked back: it was the Slytherin team heading toward the Quidditch pitch for practice. Not wanting to deal with six or seven hostile Slytherins, whether Malfoy was with them or not, Harry pulled out his Invisibility Cloak which he'd fortunately carried with him, and slipped it over himself.

Once under the Cloak, Harry peeked around the broom shed again at the advancing Slytherins. There were seven of them, including Crabbe and Goyle, but no sign of Malfoy. They were all carrying their new Firestars. Harry frowned; strange that Malfoy, whose parents (well, mother, Harry corrected himself; Draco's father was still in Azkaban) had bought the team members each a new Firestar, was not even taking Quidditch practice. What was he up to now?

A motion in the corner of his eye caught Harry's attention, and he turned to see a most unusual sight – a portion of someone's robed leg had appeared off to his left as a sudden gust of wind passed through. The leg disappeared again, as if someone had quickly covered it up, but Harry was sure of what he'd seen – someone else had an Invisibility Cloak!

Making sure his own Cloak was covering him, Harry left the cover of the broom shed and moved toward where he'd last seen the leg. He carefully scanned the grass ahead of him, watching for telltale signs – and sure enough, blades of grass were moving or being pressed down, as if invisible feet under an invisible cloak were moving through it.

Harry followed the moving patch of disturbance to the school gates and through them. With seventh-year liberty, Harry knew that people would be walking back and forth between Hogwarts and Hogsmeade fairly often now, but at the moment the road seemed quite clear. Harry stopped near the gate; the grass, which had helped him trace the path of the person wearing the Invisibility Cloak was now replaced by road, which was no help at all. Harry waited, watching for some sign.

He was rewarded a few moments later when Draco Malfoy's head suddenly appeared in the shadow of the wall. Harry exulted to himself at catching Malfoy in the act of doing something sneaky. But what was he up to?

His question was answered a few moments later as Malfoy, evidently not accustomed to using an Invisibility Cloak, adjusted it clumsily as he seated himself on his Firestar – Harry saw the tip of the broom moving around in front of Malfoy's face before he adjusted his Cloak to cover it. Malfoy kicked off, pointing himself northward before slipping the Cloak over his head so he entirely vanished.

Harry cursed, wishing he had his own Firebolt so that he could follow Malfoy wherever he was going. Northward? There wasn't anywhere north of Hogwarts Malfoy could be going except –

_Azkaban_.

That was it! Malfoy must be going to visit his father in Azkaban prison. Harry could easily imagine why – Malfoy had been made a Death Eater now that he was of age, so that Voldemort could have more than one agent here inside Hogwarts, along with Snape. The real question, with Dumbledore now dead and Malfoy's mission seemingly accomplished, was – why?

In the shadow of the wall where Malfoy had taken off, Harry took off his own Invisibility Cloak, replacing it in his robe, then walked back up the dusty road to the Hogwarts front doors. Once inside, he glanced around the entrance hall and, seeing no one around, stepped over to the book where the log of seventh-years taking weekend liberty was kept.

Scanning the page quickly, Harry saw no line containing Malfoy's name; only a few students were out today, and those who had written destinations in their entries had only put Hogsmeade down. Harry flipped back to the previous weeks' entries; Malfoy's name was not in the book. Wherever he was going, then, he didn't want it listed in this book or even that he was gone.

Making his way to the Library, Harry found Hermione and Ron studying (much more Hermione than Ron, of course). Joining them, he told them in hushed but excited whispers about witnessing Malfoy's secretive flight northward.

Ron nodded in silent agreement as Harry spun his tale, but Hermione, while not disagreeing, took up the task of devil's advocate. "Not signing out isn't good, of course, but it doesn't prove he's a Death Eater, Harry," she pointed out reasonably, which Harry had to grudgingly agree with.

"But there's not many places north of here within broom's distance except Azkaban," Ron pointed out. "What I wonder is why he doesn't just Apparate there?"

"Well, besides the fact that Apparition _in_ or _out_ of Azkaban is rigidly controlled, Ron," Hermione said, giving him a condescending look, "Malfoy may just not want to try and Apparate that far in one go."

"Plus," Harry added, "Malfoy seems to have abandoned both Quidditch and Crabbe and Goyle – I saw them with the Slytherins at the Quidditch pitch earlier, when Malfoy was sneaking away. I wonder if that means he's working directly with Snape now."

"What could he and Snape want around here now that Voldemort's dead?" Ron asked.

"To close the school," Hermione said suddenly, her eyes wide. "Oh, no! Maybe that's why Voldemort told Draco to kill Dumbledore so the school would be closed! But when the school was reopened anyway he needed Snape, and maybe Malfoy as well, to try and find other ways to shut it down."

Harry gave her a significant look. "You know that doesn't work out if Voldemort is gone, don't you?"

"Oh yeah, that's right," Hermione said, frowning. "Well, we don't think he's gone anyway, do we?"

"No," Harry agreed grimly. "But I'd think the most powerful Dark Wizard in the world could defeat Neville Longbottom."

"Well, _you_ beat _him_," Ron said.

"No, I didn't," Harry disagreed. "I don't even remember what happened beyond a flash of green light and dreaming about riding on a flying motorcycle. The magic my mother invoked is what saved me, not anything I did." He sighed. "I hope Neville _did_ beat him, and that his Death Eaters need to collect him and bring him back before he's a threat again. We need every edge we can get against Voldemort."

Harry then expressed his desire to renew the search for Voldemort's Horcruxes, and both Hermione and Ron nodded as he pointed out the need to hunt unceasingly for them until all were located and destroyed. Hermione promised to continue the search, as did Ron, starting as soon as they could, leaving Harry feeling much better about making headway against Voldemort.

Harry loitered outside the school in the late afternoon, wondering if he could catch any sign of Malfoy sneaking back inside the school, hoping his experience at using an Invisibility Cloak would give him an advantage in spotting telltale signs; he'd even got out the Sneakoscope Ron had got for him while on holiday in Egypt several years ago, in hopes it would go off if Malfoy came near him while under his Invisibility Cloak. Malfoy never turned up, although Harry learned that his Sneakoscope had developed a knack for finding lost or hidden objects – he picked up two Knuts and a Sickle under a rock on the grounds, and found a fake wand hidden in the hollow of a tree, which turned out to be one of Fred and George's gag items.

Two nights later, Harry was awakened by a hand gently shaking his shoulder.

"Wuzzat?" Harry muttered, pushing the hand away. "Ron, I'm tryin' to sleep."

"It's not Ron, it's Jon," the voice said. Harry's eyes came blearily open and he tried to focus on the person standing above him. He grabbed his glasses off the bedside cabinet.

It was indeed Jon, fully dressed and looking around furtively at the others sleeping in their own bed. "Sorry to wake you this early, Harry, but I just finished."

"Finished what?"

"Come down to the common room," Jon whispered. "I'll show you."

Sleepily throwing on a robe over his nightclothes, Harry followed Jon silently downstairs and over to the fireplace. This early, of course, the common room was completely empty. Jon placed his hand on a certain stone in the wall to the left of the fireplace and said the phrase that caused the doorway to open. Reaching inside, he pulled out a broom and handed it to Harry.

In the dim light of the few lamps left burning in the common room, Harry could just make out writing engraved into the wood: "_Crown Jewel #001 for Harry Potter_." He hefted the broom. It was light, lighter even than his Firebolt, and the wood felt highly polished and smooth as he ran his hand along the shaft.

Jon was grinning. "The rest of them are in here as well," he said, indicating the secret passageway. "Seven custom-made brooms for your team, Harry. Each of them faster and more agile than a Firestar."

"Excellent!" Harry said, looking at his broom. Having flown some of the best brooms in the world, Harry knew what a well-made, world-class broom felt like, and this broom felt very good in his hands. He held it out tentatively and let go; the broom hovered at exactly the right height for him to easily mount it. He wished he could take it out to the pitch and fly it right then; all thoughts of sleep had vanished from his brain.

"Oi, what's up down here?" a voice from the boys' dormitory staircase said softly. It was Ron, who padded over softly to join them. "What've you got – oh, wicked!" he exclaimed as he saw Harry's broom. "Where's mine, then?" he asked automatically.

Jon grinned and, reaching into the secret passageway, pulled out a near-identical broom with "_Crown Jewel #002 for Ronald Weasley_" on its shaft and handed it to Ron.

"I've got the rest of them here as well," he repeated for Ron's benefit as Ron goggled over his new broom. "Number 003 for Ginny, number 004 for Demelza, 005 for Ritchie, 006 for Jimmy and 007 for Natalie." He laughed. "I almost wrote 'James Bond' for Natalie's name."

"Why?" Ron said blankly.

Jon looked at him for a moment before he shrugged and said, "Not important."

"What do you think we should do with them?" Harry asked Jon. "Leave them here?"

"Well, we can," Jon said with a shrug. "I doubt anyone'll find them in the secret passage. I hoped we could give them to the other members of your team tomorrow evening, but I don't want that passageway to become common knowledge. I thought if we hid them under your bed we could have them fly down the stairs and up to the team member they belong to."

"Sweet," Ron observed.

"I dunno if we can get seven of these brooms under my bed _plus_ my Firebolt," Harry considered.

"We can put some under mine," Ron said. Harry and Ron carried their brooms up to their dormitory, with Jon levitating the remaining brooms behind them and once in the room having them silently slide under Ron or Harry's bed. They went back to bed, and Jon back to his own dormitory, but Harry didn't sleep a wink more that night, thinking about the brooms, wondering how he'd be able to wait until that evening before showing them to his team.

Getting through the day was one thing, Harry knew; getting through Defense Against the Dark Arts class, however was going to be quite another. Snape, never a compassionate teacher, had become quite overbearing in his treatment of the Gryffindor students lately, and Neville in particular. What was interesting to see, however, was how Neville now dealt with it. No longer frightened or shy, Neville answered Snape's derisive remarks directly, if quietly. A few times Snape had even taken points from Gryffindor for getting "cheek" from Neville, something that had never happened in earlier years in Snape's Potions class.

Tuesday's double Defense Against the Dark Arts class found the seventh-years beginning the study of advanced defensive techniques such as the Rebound Spell and Spellcatcher Charm.

"These spells," Snape said, in an annoying, arrogant tone, "are extensions of basic spells used to enchant objects for magical use. Who can tell me these basic spells?" Ignoring Hermione's hand, which had instantly gone up as he began the question, Snape looked around the room, and finally pointed out a Ravenclaw student, Su Li.

"The basic spells are the Repelling Charm and the Enchanting Charm," Li said easily. Hermione lowered her hand.

"Correct," Snape said. "A point for Ravenclaw." This evoked smiles from Li and the other Ravenclaws in the room.

"And how do the Rebound and Spellcatcher Charms differ from these basic spells?" Snape continued. Hermione again had her hand in the air; this time she was only one with her hand up.

Snape's eyes seemed to look everywhere in the room except at Hermione's raised hand. Finally, he turned to her, reluctantly, and with a small gesture bid her answer.

"The Rebound Charm sends the spell effects back upon the caster," Hermione said, "while the Spellcatcher Charm temporarily holds a spell until the person catching it releases it."

"Simplistically put, but in essence correct," Snape sniffed. "The Rebound Charm is an example of _riposte;_ in dueling, it is a counterattack made immediately after a defensive move. In this case the counterattack is made with the attacker's own spell. Can anyone name a spell this will _not_ work on? Potter, even you should be able to answer a simple question such as this."

Near the back, Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle sniggered. Ignoring them, but determined to be as uncooperative (yet correct) as possible, Harry said, "the Killing Curse."

Snape's gaze remained on Harry for some seconds. "Try to do better than use such an obvious example next time, Potter. One point from Gryffindor for resorting to triviality."

"Sir," Jon said, "a more pertinent question might be –"

"Mr. Crown," Snape cut over him. "You have not raised your hand for permission to speak." There were more sniggers from the back of the classroom.

Jon raised his hand. After several moments Snape gestured perfunctorily toward him, and Jon continued. "A more pertinent question might be, why do certain curses such as the Killing Curse, the Cruciatus Curse, and the Imperius Curse not respond to the Rebound Charm? The Rebound Charm is a recent spell, developed partly as a defense against those very curses. Yet it is ineffectual against them. Why is that?"

"I should think the answer would be obvious," Snape arched an eyebrow at Jon. "Evidently you are not as intelligent as you've led us to believe, Mr. Crown."

Jon did not react but Harry saw the muscles of his jaw clench. He was probably biting back a response, something Harry'd learned to do after many classes with Snape.

Snape was looking about the room. "Does anyone have the answer for Mr. Crown? No?" He turned and walked slowly back to the front of the room. "I think Mr. Crown's question presents us with an opportunity for independent study. Each of you will deliver an essay of not less than twelve inches, describing the origin, use, and application of both the Rebound and the Spellcatching Charms." The class collectively groaned. "Be sure," Snape added loudly, over the groaning, "to include _why_ these spells will not work against the Unforgivable Curses. Remember to be specific – I do not want to see generalities!"

It was a time-honored, effective technique, Harry knew – setting students against one another by making them "responsible" for extra homework. Snape had used it on him as well in the past. He would've expected most of the class to recognize it as well, but a few students who walked past Jon muttered, "Thanks a lot, Crown," or something similar. Jon ignored most of them.

Even Malfoy couldn't resist having a go at him. "I guess you're not smart as you thought, Crown," Malfoy drawled as he, Crabbe and Goyle walked past him as he walked with Harry, Ron and Hermione. "Snape got you good."

"I don't have to prove I'm smarter than Snape, Malfoy," Jon shot back, "when I've already proved I'm smarter than you."

Malfoy's pale features flushed. "Oh, yeah?"

"Snappy comeback," Jon smirked. "Did you think that up all by yourself?" Crabbe and Goyle scowled at him, cracking their knuckles menacingly.

But Jon ignored them, turning instead down a different corridor with Harry, Ron and Hermione that would take them to the Gryffindor common room. "Have a nice time writing that essay, Draco," he said airily over his shoulder, leaving Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle glaring after him.

"What I don't understand," Hermione said to Jon later, after they had gotten settled around a study table in the common room, "was how you couldn't know why those spells don't work on the Unforgivable Curses. It's clearly spelt out in _Confronting the Faceless_ –"

"Oh, I know why," Jon said, "but there wasn't any point in telling Snape. Once he realized I knew he would've dismissed it as unimportant. Instead, he turned it into a homework assignment for everyone as I hoped he would."

"You mean you arranged for us to get more homework?" Ron said incredulously.

"I thought he let us off rather easily," Hermione said matter-of-factly. "He usually assigns 18 or 24 inches for essay questions."

"That's _such_ a comfort to me, Hermione," Ron said balefully, measuring out a foot-long piece of parchment.

A few hours later Harry and Ron were putting the finishing touches on their essays to Snape, after having their first drafts read over by Hermione and Jon, when Jimmy Peaks and Ritchie Coote turned up in the common room. Natalie and Demelza, who'd each been studying at different tables in the common room as well, saw them and approached as well.

"Oi, Harry, here we are," Demelza said as they stopped beside Harry's table. "What's up with today's practice?"

"Oh yeah," Harry said, remembering what they were going to do. "We're still shy Ginny, though." At that moment the portrait swung open and Ginny dashed in.

"I'm here!" she said, skidding to a halt next to Ron.

Harry stood and, raising his voice so the entire common room would hear, said, "Listen up, everyone! I have an announcement! Jonathan Crown, our exchange student from America, has graciously donated his time and materials to put together some gifts for the Gryffindor Quidditch team as a way of showing support for his adopted House. I'll leave it to him to hand out the presents. Jon, it's all yours."

Jon, who had stood along with the others when Harry began speaking, moved into the center of the common room. "Thank you, Harry. I saw, earlier this year, that the Slytherin team had gotten a present of seven Firestars." There were assorted murmurs and grumblings; it had been a sore topic that Slytherin now had such a clear advantage over everyone else. "Exactly, it doesn't seem fair. Well, I wanted to do my part to even the odds a bit, at least for the Gryffindor team. Will the team members form a circle with me in the center, please?" They did so: Harry, Ron, Ginny, Demelza, Jimmy, Ritchie and Natalie. Jon had them step back so the circle was about six feet in diameter. "Now here's my present to the Gryffindor team." Jon stepped out of the circle, held his wand high and shouted, "_Accio _Crown Jewels!"

There was a swooshing sound as seven brooms suddenly flew into the room, high over their heads, forming a seven-pointed star above the circle, the tails of the brooms just touching each other. As Jon pointed his wand at them, the tails slowly dipped and the brooms lowered into a vertical position in front of each member. The rest of the common room _ooooh'ed_ as each broom came to rest in front of a Gryffindor team member.

"If I did that right, you should each find your name on the broom in front of you," Jon said.

"Oh my gosh!" Jimmy Peakes exclaimed. "Lookithat!" He took careful hold of the broom floating in front of him, gazing along its shaft. "Crown Jewel #006 for Jimmy Peakes!" he read aloud.

Demelza, after holding her broom for several moments, rushed over and hugged Jon tightly. "Oh, thank you!" she said, her eyes bright with tears of joy. "Nobody's ever given me anything like this before!"

Ritchie was still staring silently at his. "Do I haveta give this back after Quidditch is over?" he wanted to know.

"No," Jon shook his head, smiling. "It's yours forever."

"Cool!" Ritchie beamed. "Thanks!"

The crowd had broken into smaller groups as each Quidditch team member showed their new broom to their particular circle of friends.

"Let's get to practice," Harry said, and they all dashed out to the Quidditch pitch.

What a practice it turned out to be! Even as lukewarm as Harry felt toward Quidditch lately, he still enjoyed being in the air and flying, and the new brooms were definitely an improvement even over his Firebolt. They spent the first ten or 15 minutes of the practice just flying around on the new brooms, getting used to them and testing their capabilities.

"Fantastic!" Ron shouted as he swooped by Harry at one point. He'd used a Cleansweep 11 up until then although, having flown on Harry's Firebolt, he knew just how slow the Cleansweep was in comparison. Now capable of going more than twice as fast, Ron couldn't resist pushing the new broom to its limits a few times.

"You're never going to go that fast as a Keeper!" Harry shouted back at him, laughing. But the mood was infectious; all of them were like first-years who'd just gotten the hang of flying and were really trying it out.

Finally getting them to settle into drills, Harry watched, impressed, as Ginny, Demelza and Natalie put on a dazzling display of Quaffle-passing as they drove toward the goal posts, flying rings around Jimmy and Ritchie, who were defending at first as Chasers rather than performing their normal function as Beaters. The only downside was how frustrated Ron was getting as he was scored against time after time.

"Give it some time!" Harry shouted at him as Ron narrowly missed a hard-driven goal by Demelza and cursed loudly at himself. "You've got to get used to that broom!"

He put Jimmy and Ritchie to work as Beaters, using a new set of hard rubber Bludgers rather than the normal iron ones – they tended to prevent more severe injuries during practice. Both of them, already well-versed in the use of Beater bats, really came into their own with the improved speed and maneuverability of the new brooms. A few times a well-aimed practice Bludger even managed to make one of the Chasers fumble the Quaffle, which Harry, watching from below, would catch and zoom back to the opposite end to toss back into play.

He finally ended practice with Ron taking some penalty shots from the other team members, giving them each three goes starting with Jimmy and Ritchie, who were not as adept as the Chasers which, Harry hoped, would give Ron a leg up on saves at first. Ron did admirably throughout, saving all of Jimmy's and Ritchie's, two of Demelza's, and one each of Natalie's and Ginny's, giving him 10 saves out of 15. They ended with an impromptu race around the pitch, which Ginny won, although Ron protested that this was because she called for the race after she took off.

"Incredible," Ron said in the changing room afterwards. "Just incredible! He really did a marvelous job on these brooms, Harry."

"Ginny thought so," Harry couldn't keep himself from saying.

"Well, yeah," Ron agreed, his smile now gone as he thought of Jon's last remark. "But," he added. "He may not have meant it the way we thought, you know."

"Oh, you think he didn't?" Harry looked at him coolly, eyebrow raised.

"Well, with us standing right there, why would he say something like that? I mean, he's not stupid."

That, Harry had to agree with. "But he's human," he added.

Ron shrugged. "We all say stupid things sometimes, don't we?"

Harry laughed. "D'you remember what you asked Lavender about in Trelawney's class once, about Uranus?"

Ron grinned. "Yep. She turned red as a beet. Course, Trelawney gave us loads of homework for that."

They both laughed, and Harry decided that Jon's comment wasn't nearly as bad as he'd thought. Although he hoped Jon would never say anything like it again in his hearing.

Some time later, Harry and Ron made their way back to the common room to put their brooms away for safekeeping. As with his Firebolt, Harry no longer kept his brooms in the Hogwarts broom shed, which was neither completely secure from the elements nor from potential thievery. Not having seen Jon in the common room itself, Harry knocked on the fifth door from the bottom of the steps, the room that Jon shared with four second-years. "Come in," Jon's voice replied.

Harry and Ron walked in with their brooms. Jon was on his bed, reading. There were two other boys in the room, talking quietly. They stopped immediately as they saw Harry and the brooms. This room, which had been Fred and George's during their stay at Hogwarts, was where the male students sorted into Gryffindor last year had been assigned; Harry couldn't even remember the boys' names. He hadn't been present at their Sorting in any case; he'd been hit by a Total Body-Bind spell from Draco Malfoy who caught him using his Invisibility Cloak in the Slytherin's compartment on the Hogwarts Express and had been left there to make the trip back to King's Cross. Fortunately, Tonks had rescued him from the train before it left Hogsmeade Station.

Both of the second-years rushed over, their eagerness to see the brooms overcoming their shyness in front of the seventh-years. "Can I hold your broom, sir?" one of them asked breathlessly.

Harry smiled at being called "sir." "Sure," he said. "Catch!" and tossed the broom toward the boy, who flinched back. Fortunately, as Harry planned, the broom hovered in the air, ready for Harry to mount. The two second-years looked at it, wide-eyed with wonder. "Go ahead," Harry urged, "take hold of it."

Reverently the boy who'd asked to hold it grasped the broom and held it as if it were finest crystal. "It looks fast," the other boy said excitedly. "What kind is it, a Firestar?"

There was a chuckle from Jon's bed. "No," Harry said, smiling as well. "It's a Crown Jewel."

"Huh," said the other boy. "Never heard o' that. Same name as Jon's, then?"

"Yeah," Ron said, as if it should be obvious. "He built them, you know."

Both boys looked quickly over at Jon, who was now watching the proceedings, having turned his book over. "Jon!" the first one exclaimed. "Did YOU really make this broom?"

"I did indeed, Ian," Jon nodded. "I made all seven for the Gryffindor team."

"You DID?" Ian yelped. "Can you make _me_ one too?"

"And _me_!" the other boy chimed in.

"Well, I'm afraid not," Jon said. "You're not on the Quidditch team, you know." As both boys slumped, downcast, Jon sighed and said, "Tell you what – I have some models I made of those brooms. I'll bring you each a copy – yes, one for you as well, Martin. And I'll bring one for Oliver and Daniel as well."

"Thank you!" both boys chorused.

Jon glanced at his watch. "You haven't been down to eat yet, have you?" Both second-years shook their heads. "You'd better scoot then, they'll be closing before too long." Both boys waved goodbye and disappeared out the door.

"Blimey," Ron said, looking at his own watch. "We'd better get down there too if we want to get something to eat tonight!"

"We just wanted to thank you again for the brooms," Harry said to Jon, walking over to stand next to Jon's bed, an ornate oak four-poster with canopy, as were all the beds in the room. "They flew really, really good."

"Fantastic," Ron echoed.

"Good," Jon said, sitting up. "I wondered for a bit if it was the right thing to do, you know."

"Why?" Ron said, looking puzzled. He leaned against one of the bedposts and Harry did the same thing at the opposite foot of the bed. "What's wrong with giving us brooms? The Slytherins got new ones, too."

"Well, the Slytherins getting those Firestars gave them an unfair advantage over the rest of the Quidditch teams, didn't it?" Jon pointed out.

"Well, yeah," Harry said. He looked around; there was a low whistling coming from somewhere he couldn't quite identify. "But that was because the other Slytherins made Malfoy do it or they'd throw him off the team. Except I don't think it matters – I saw him on Monday flying off somewhere while the rest of the Slytherins were at practice on the pitch."

"Well, me giving Gryffindor those brooms now gives you the same unfair advantage, doesn't it?"

"No," Ron disagreed.

"Not really," said Harry. "You did that by your own choice, didn't you?"

"Yeah," Jon agreed.

"We didn't force you to do it, so they're gifts, freely given and freely accepted," Harry finished. The whistling was becoming quite annoying.

"Yeah, I came to that conclusion too," Jon said.

"What is that sound?" Harry finally said turning away to listen, but the sound was gone. He listened for several seconds. "Did you hear a whistling sound a few seconds ago?" he asked either of them.

"I thought I did, but it's gone now," Jon said. Harry leaned against the bedpost and the whistling sound began again.

"There it is again!" Harry dropped his broom, which promptly began to hover beside him, and looked through his robe's pockets. Finally, in a left side pocket, he pulled out the Pocket Sneakoscope he'd used a few days ago in a vain attempt to locate Malfoy under his Invisibility Cloak.

"Why is it whistling?" Jon asked. "I thought it was only supposed to do that if it was near someone untrustworthy."

"It's just a souvenir," Ron said dismissively. "I got it for Harry while I was in Egypt on holiday with my folks. It's not very reliable."

Harry held the Sneakoscope out in front of himself, toward Jon. Its whistling diminished, so he pointed it at Ron. The whistling almost died away. Keeping it near himself, however, brought the volume of whistling back up.

"I guess you're not very trustworthy, Harry," Ron joked.

"Ha-ha," Harry said, annoyed. "But it's been in my pocket all this time and didn't go off until now. Hmm, I wonder." Harry stepped away from the bed then moved the Sneakoscope close to the bedpost. The whistling got stronger.

"Does that mean the bedpost is about to break?" Jon asked, amused.

"It means that there's something hidden nearby," Harry said. "I noticed the other day this Sneakoscope would find things that were hidden; I don't think it works on untrustworthy people anymore, or it would have been whistling like mad near Snape today."

"You know, this is the bed that Fred slept in," Ron said matter-of-factly.

They all looked at the bedpost. Having a brainwave, Harry took out his wand and tapping it against the bedpost where the Sneakoscope seemed to whistle loudest. "_Specialis Revelio_," he murmured, but nothing happened.

"Nothing magical there," he said, disappointed.

"Try _Dissimulis Revelio_," urged Jon. "It will show if there's anything unusual about that section of the bedpost.

Harry tapped the bedpost again, this time using Jon's spell. A section of the bedpost glowed blue for a fraction of a second.

"Oho," Harry said. He pushed against the wood in several places until a section of it slid aside, revealing a small hollow, inside which was a well-worn piece of parchment.

"They never told me about that!" Ron said, outraged, then stepped over and repeated the spell on George's bedposts in several spots, but no hiding place was revealed there.

Harry unfolded the piece of parchment. It was in Fred's handwriting. "It's from Fred," he said. "It says –"

_Fred –  
Remember to put this back into its hiding place, and check it every day. Also, remember to read the other side._

Turning it over, Harry read the other side aloud as well,

**"Chartered Accountancy: A Muggle Approach"  
By Purus Nilem  
Muggle Studies Section. Check out and read the front piece.**

"Why in ruddy hell would Fred care about a book on chartered accountancy," Ron began, but Jon and Harry were looking at each other with sudden enlightenment.

Chartered accountancy?

"That's the book!" Jon said. He jumped out of bed, his reading forgotten. "Is the Library still open?"

"Yes!" Harry said. "Let's go!" He started for the door, but Jon grabbed his arm, stopping him.

"Put the parchment back first, Harry!" Harry complied, snapping the bedpost back in place, then he and Ron launched themselves up the steps and into their room, stowed their brooms under their beds, then dashed downstairs to the exit of the common room where Jon was waiting, door open.

They rushed down to the fourth floor and along the corridors, dodging around other students in their haste, and resumed a more sedate pace only at the entrance to the Library itself; Miss Pince, the librarian, did not look kindly on noise or running within the Library. She did not look very kindly on many students either, if Harry's experiences with her were any indication.

Miss Pince looked up, her eyes narrowing with suspicion as the three Gryffindors entered the Library. It was nearly empty, Harry could see. Jon turned and walked down the corridor toward her. The Muggle Studies section, as it turned out, was next to the Restricted Section, which Pince sat near in order to keep students from accessing their shelves without proper authorization. Her eyes narrowed at their approach and she watched them like a hungry bird of prey watches the approach of unwary mice.

Jon nodded pleasantly as they stopped before her desk. "Good evening, Miss Pince, and how are you today?"

Jon was apparently in here quite often, and must have shown impeccable care toward the books he'd read, because Pince actually favored him with a thin smile and nodded in return. "Good evening, Mr. Crown. And what can I do for you –" she jerked her head almost imperceptibly toward Harry and Ron "– and _them_, today?"

"We're just going to look through the Muggle Studies section for a bit," Jon told her, pointing to the shelves of books beyond the Restricted section. "Looking for a few books on chartered accountancy," he added.

Pince gave him a curious look. "Homework assignment?"

"Well, extra credit, actually," Jon smiled, moving off toward the books. Harry and Ron smiled nervously at her but she only glared at them coldly for a moment before turning back to her work.

"Okay," Jon said, walking slowly down the first row of shelves. "Let's see… ah, here we are!" He glanced through the section on Accounting, but no book by Purus Nilem turned up. There were no more than a half-dozen books on the subject in the section.

"What do you think?" Harry whispered after they had looked on adjacent shelves for several minutes, coming up empty.

"I dunno," sighed Jon. "I can't believe someone has it checked out. But we'll only ask Pince as a last resort. She'll get suspicious if we ask her about a specific book. Let's just try searching all the shelves. And, _quietly_," he reminded them. "We don't want to disturb Miss Pince."

It was several minutes later before Ron, looking around a corner of shelves, motioned them to follow him several rows over from the Accounting section. In the section on Transportation, between a book on Muggle automobiles and one on airplanes, sat Purus Nilem's masterpiece. It was not a very big book, perhaps an inch or so thick. Jon slid it off the shelf and opened it.

Thumbing through the pages, he snorted. "Pretty dry stuff." He flipped back to the front, where the sign-out page was magically added in, and pointed to it. "Everyone else must think so as well," he said with a laugh. "Nobody's checked it out."

"How can that be?" Ron wondered. "I thought the note said to check out the book. We should see at least Fred's name in there, unless he snuck it out every time."

"It said to read the front piece," Harry said. Jon flipped to that page. Nothing looked unusual about the page except for a short hand-written poem written near the bottom. It said,

_The numbers herein count silver and gold,  
__Yet three of these numbers, renowned of old  
__The perfect, the power, and the count of our noses,  
__Will reveal the secrets the Marauder's Map poses._

"That's it!" Ron exclaimed softly.

"Let's get out of here," Jon said. "I'll check this out. Harry, you and Ron wait outside the Library door. Pince will be less suspicious if I do it alone. She's used to me checking out books."

Harry nodded, and he and Ron made for the door as Jon went up to Pince's desk. He appeared at the front door within a minute, saying "Let's go!" and they returned to the common room to show Hermione.

"It seems pretty straightforward," she said after reading the poem on the front piece. The first perfect number is six."

"Right," Jon concurred.

"But what does it mean by 'perfect?' " Ron wanted to know.

"Just a mathematical meaning," Jon said. "It's also used in Arithmancy. A perfect number is a number whose prime factors also add up to the number itself. 1 plus 2 plus 3 equals 6, and 1 times 2 times 3 equals 6."

"Then the 'power' is the most magically powerful number, seven," Harry said. Both Jon and Hermione nodded.

"Which leaves only, 'the count of our noses,' which means – what?" Ron asked.

"Since it's about the Marauder's Map, and there were four Marauders," Harry deduced, "it seems a pretty good guess that the last number is 'four'."

"And there are four of us here," Hermione noted. "A good sign, I'd say."

"So let's give it a try," Jon said. "Tap the book with your wand and say the numbers, Hermione."

"Alright," Hermione said, taking out her wand. She placed the book on the table before her then, taking a deep breath, she said, "Six, seven, four," tapping the book with each number.

The book began to spin. Faster and faster, until it was only a blur, it whirled around and around before their amazed eyes, until finally it slowed to a halt. Hermione and others stared at it and each other in amazement.

It was no longer a neatly bound textbook on chartered accountancy. Instead, in roughly-bound brown leather, it lay before them with its title in gilded lettering across the front:

_**The Making of the  
Marauder's Map  
By Remus Lupin**_

Hermione reached up and opened it slowly. The pages were several types of parchment and were unevenly sown into the book; it had obviously been assembled over a period of time.

"Interesting," she said, looking through the pages. "Most of this looks to have been written by Professor Lupin back when he was a student at Hogwarts." She turned to the first page of the book, a hand-written entry titled "Introduction," and read:

To the Hogwarts Student Who Finds This, Greeting!

This book is the culmination of six years of education and research at the greatest  
school for magical education in the world, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!  
I am Remus Lupin, also known as "Moony" because of my "furry little problem,"  
as my good friend James Potter, aka "Prongs," tends to call it. We, along with  
our friends Peter Pettigrew, also called "Wormtail," and Sirius Black, called "Padfoot,"  
have compiled this book in honor of our collective achievement, "The Marauder's Map."

The Marauder's Map, as you will learn from the following pages, is a Map of the school of  
Hogwarts and its grounds, but it is not just an ordinary map. Hogwarts, it is claimed,  
is Unplottable, but you will see on the map that it has indeed been plotted! How, you  
will undoubtedly ask, could that be? You will see, as all will be revealed within these pages.

But before we continue, let us first discuss the Map itself. It is a large single piece of parchment  
with enchantments to make it Unbreakable and resistant to Fire, Stains, and Magical Erasure.

It appears blank to preserve its secrets from prying eyes, especially from those of  
Slytherin House, who might use it for foul (as opposed to "no good") purposes.

When the Map is blank, it may be activated by tapping it with the wand while reciting the phrase,  
"I Solemnly Swear that I am Up to No Good." This will reveal the school grounds and building with all  
seven floors, including the dungeons, the 142 staircases (we counted them all!) and all secret doors  
and exits we've found in the last six years. If you're not sure how to work a secret door or exit,  
just tap it with your wand and help will be displayed on the Map.

When you've finished with the Map, it may be deactivated (made blank again) by  
tapping it with your wand and saying, "Mischief Managed."

While the Map is activated, you will see numerous tiny figures moving about on it. Any being with a mind  
within range of the magic (that is, whatever is Plotted on this Map) will be shown on at its current location with a  
small label. For example, Yours Truly would be shown as **Remus Lupin**. If you do not see whoever  
you're looking for, simply tap the Map and say their name; if they are present their name will glow for a few seconds.

We leave the Map, and this record of its creation, for future generations to enjoy and to learn from.

Mischief Managed!  
Remus J. Lupin  
Gryffindor 1971 - 1978

"Wow," said Harry, as the four of them looked at one another. "I wish I'd known a few of these things before now!"

"Just think of the spells that must've gone into making that Map," Hermione marveled. "I can't imagine how they managed to map Unplottable ground!"

"We can use this!" Harry suddenly exclaimed.

"For what?" Hermione asked.

"Isn't it obvious? To remake the Marauder's Map!"

Hermione gave him a curious look. "Don't we have _other things_ to take care of?" she said, being deliberately vague in front of Jon.

"Oh, yeah," Harry said. "Well, we can do this as well."

"And the Mystery Vault!" Ron reminded him. "We're still going to see the Tournament, aren't we?"

Harry flopped back into one of the chairs. "Blimey," he said wearily. "It's turning into a busy year, isn't it?"

Before falling asleep that night, Harry took off his robe, wrapped Lupin's book in it then placed it inside his trunk, where he would be sure of finding it the next day. He wanted a chance to look it over very carefully to see just how much trouble creating the Marauder's Map would be.


	20. The Helm of Gryffindor

Chapter 20

**The Helm Of Gryffindor**

First thing the next morning, Harry was getting ready for class with a shower, as he felt a bit grimy from Quidditch practice the previous evening; he then woke Ron and got dressed while Ron complained that he never had enough time in the morning to get ready for class.

"Wake up earlier, then," Harry said, very logically, while fastening his tie.

"Then I never have enough time for sleep," Ron complained.

Harry looked around for his school robe, then remembered he'd put it in his trunk. Unlocking the trunk (_Why did I put it there?_ he wondered), he pulled out the robe, shook it out, and put it on. He and Ron grabbed their book bags and went down to breakfast.

As Ron piled eggs and sausages onto his plate and Harry decided on a bowl of cornflakes and milk, the owl posts arrived, among them Hedwig, who landed on Harry's shoulder, nipping affectionately at his finger as he untied the pouch attached to her leg. He took the pouch, then held out a piece of toast while praising her. "It's from Fred and George," he said to Ron after reading the note tied to her leg.

_Harry,  
Have some ideas to discuss with you. Will see you in person soon.  
Fred and George_

"What's all that about?" Ron wondered.

"They probably didn't want to say anything in an owl post, in case it was intercepted," Harry decided. "Damn. Well, we'll just have to make sure we can get there on the next Vault Tournament round."

They bolted through the rest of breakfast then raced down to the Potions classroom.

When they arrived, they found several students, including Jon and Hermione, queued up waiting for Professor Slughorn to open the door. Jon, seeing Harry, walked over to him and asked, "Did you bring Lupin's book with you?"

Harry gave him a blank look. "What d'you mean, Lupin's book?"

"The one we found yesterday," Jon said, staring at him curiously. "You know, the one disguised as a book on chartered accountancy?" As both Harry and Ron continued to look at him blankly, Jon said, sounding peeved, "Are you pulling my leg, or what?"

"I remember talking about chartered accountancy," Harry said, thinking back. "But otherwise I have no idea what you mean." He looked at Hermione. "Do you know what he's talking about?"  
"No idea," said Hermione, shrugging.

"Look," Jon said, beginning to lose patience. "It was on a note in a hidden compartment in one of my bedposts, remember?"

"I remember," said Ron, sounding a bit resentful. "It was Fred's old bed, but he never told me about that compartment!"

Jon pulled a piece of parchment out of his robe. "I wrote down the name and author of that book. He showed them the parchment, with "Chartered Accountancy: A Muggle Approach, by Purus Nilem" written on it. Below that was written the name "Remus Lupin" with lines drawn from each letter in "Purus Nilem" to the corresponding letter in Lupin's name.

"It occurred to me," Jon said, pointing to the diagram he'd made, that the letters in these two names were similar, and you'd told me, Harry, that Remus Lupin helped create the Marauder's Map. What really got me, though, was this." He pointed below the diagram, where he'd scrawled the words, "The poem from the book."

"But where's the poem?" Hermione asked, seeing nothing below the words Jon had written.

"They're gone, magically erased," Jon said.

He was about to go on when a booming voice behind them said, "Good morning, everyone!" It was Professor Slughorn, finally arriving for Potions class. The portly Potions Master stepped through the group queued at the door, unlocked it, and led them into the classroom. "I hope you won't be too upset with me for the few minutes we've lost," he said jovially, placing his bag on his desk and turning to face them as students filed into the room. "I was up late grading your essays from last week and these old bones of mine are not as used to being up this early."

Harry and Ron put their book bags on their desk then stepped over to Jon and Hermione's desk. "How could what you wrote be 'magically erased?' " Harry asked in a low voice.

"I don't know," Jon replied, just as softly, so that only Harry, Ron and Hermione could hear him. "But none of us remember that book from yesterday, though I clearly remember seeing the note from the bedpost and talking about a book on chartered accountancy.

"I used a Memory Charm on myself –" Jon began, but Ron interrupted.

"Why would you want to make yourself forget that?" he demanded. "I thought you were trying to _remember_ something!"

Hermione put her hand in front of her mouth, while Jon said, "You're thinking of _Obliviate_, Ron; Memory Charms are also to help you remember."

"Oh," Ron said, sounding weary of being corrected about magic.

"Maybe you just forgot that, Ron," Harry said, even though he hadn't remembered that fact, either; Ron just rolled his eyes.

"I used a Memory Charm," Jon continued, "but I still didn't come up with anything from the night before. I decided to extract my memories from the entire previous evening and looked for any grafts or splices –"

"Really, the entire evening?" Hermione said, sounding surprised.

"I didn't even make it to breakfast this morning," Jon said with a shrug. "But I did find where something like an _Obliviate_ spell was used. It was very _specific_ – it cut out every instance where we referred to Lupin's book or anything I copied from it, like that poem on the front piece."

They were interrupted again by Slughorn saying, "Here now, let's get started! Potter, Weasley, back to your desk, please. Pip, pip! Everybody settle down and get out your books…" Jon thrust the piece of parchment he held back into his robe.

Harry barely paid attention to the Potions lesson; he was concentrating mightily on trying to remember exactly what had happened the previous evening. Just as with Jon, there were gaps in Harry's memory. He had to think very carefully to see any gaps at all; the ends seemed to flow together as his mind tried to work out the continuity.

It also didn't help that Wednesdays were their busiest class days, with Potions followed immediately by Defense Against the Dark Arts, then a double Herbology class in the afternoon. Slughorn kept them to the very last moment in Potions, forcing them to run to Snape's class, who, on his part, immediately collected their essays assigned the day before and launched into a lecture on advanced defensive techniques against stronger offensive spells like the Blasting Curse, the Entrail-Expelling Curse, and hexes and jinxes such as Knee-Reversing hex and the Finger-Removing jinx, which might seem relatively minor but could be cast to good effect on an opposing wizard during a duel.

Most of it was stuff Harry had already covered while teaching the members of Dumbledore's Army in his fifth year, so he barely listened, still trying to recall the details of the previous evening. By the time Snape dismissed them for lunch, however, Harry was no closer to remembering what had actually transpired the previous evening than he was when Jon first mentioned it.

At lunch he sat next to Jon, who was hungrily filling up a plate full of sausages, mashed potatoes and gravy and rolls. "So what did you figure out about last night?" Harry asked without preamble.

"Oh – let's see," Jon said, trying to remember where he'd left off. Hermione and Ron, who'd joined them as well, were listening closely; they had been part of the conversation as well the previous night, but had no recollection of the book Jon spoke of. "I made some notes yesterday about the poem we found in the front of that book." He pulled the parchment out of his pocket again, showing them the blank lines below where he'd written about a poem from the book. "While Snape was lecturing, I wrote out the poem again as I recollect it from my reconstructed memories." He reached into his book bag and pulled out a piece of parchment, showing them:

_The numbers herein count silver and gold,  
__Yet three of these numbers, renowned of old  
__The perfect, the power, and the count of our noses,  
__Will reveal the secrets the Marauder's Map poses._

"When we figured this riddle out yesterday," Jon said, "we came up with the numbers six, seven and four, and Hermione tapped the book as she said these numbers; it then turned into Lupin's book about making the Marauder's Map.

"But this morning when I asked about the book, all of you only remembered the accountancy book, and I found that my memory had been tampered with by a Memory Charm. I expect we'd find the same thing if we checked any of your memories."

"Aha," Harry said, catching on. "So if Fred and George learned about the Marauder's Map from this book, it explains why they don't remember how they figured it out – because they forgot the next day that the book existed!"

"Right!" Jon agreed. "Now the only problem is, what happened to the book?"

It was indeed a problem. After the double Herbology class, Harry and Ron returned to their dormitory with Jon and looked through every inch of his bed, cabinet and trunk. It was no use, though; no book, either by Remus Lupin or Purus Nilem, turned up anywhere in his things.

"And what're we going to do tomorrow," Ron finally said, after they'd given up the search, "will we forget all about this and go through the same thing all over again?"

"No," Jon said. "I'll think of something."

"What?" Harry asked.

"I have no idea," Jon said, shaking his head. "I'll let you know when I figure something out."

The Monday after the second Round of the Vault Tournament arrived, and with it more articles in the _Daily Prophet_ about the wizard competing and their attempts to open it. Ron waited anxiously as Hermione unrolled her copy of the Prophet, waiting for word on the status of the Vault. He breathed a sigh of relief when Hermione showed him the headline, then began to read aloud:

* * *

**Vault Tournament Round Two:  
No Winner Yet.**

Round Two of the Vault Tournament ended without a winner. Three wizards and one witch each attempted to open the mysterious Vault from the secure storage section of Gringotts Wizarding Bank without success. Two of them have been treated and released from St. Mungo's, one remains hospitalized in what one Healer candidly described as "scary" condition, and the location of the fourth remains unknown.

"It's been an interesting two rounds so far," Bill Weasley, the referee and host of the Tournament, told The _Prophet_. "Of course, we didn't expect someone to just come in and open it right up – that might've made the Bank wonder what they're paying us for."

The first contestant of the Second Round, Mr. Argen McCalman, of Walsall, Staffordshire, examined the vault for 23 minutes before beginning his attempt to open it. He told The_ Prophet_ before his attempt, "I watched them blokes last time. Blimey, I was sure when old man Ollivander went up there it was done for sure. I remember him selling me my first wand, even. I think there's a pretty easy way in, but I'm not saying nuthin' til I have a go at it meself."

Mr. McCalman's attempt was to Transfigure the pins holding the hinges out of the door, which met with failure and both of his own arms deboned. He was taken immediately to St. Mungo's where his arms were regrown over Saturday and Sunday evening. Mr. McCalman, a graduate of Hogwarts, works for the Muggle Walsall Academy as a maintenance man. He has received several service awards for the cleanliness maintained in the buildings under his charge. It is anticipated he will return to work Monday morning will no ill-effects from the regrowth of the bones in his arms.

* * *

"Nasty business, that," a voice from the other side of the room said loudly. Hermione and others at the Gryffindor tabled turned; Draco Malfoy was looking at his own copy of the _Prophet_. "Well, you won't have to worry about Round Three."

"Why not, Malfoy?" Ron said scornfully. "Are you going to tear it open with your kung fu grip?" A number of students in the Great Hall laughed, including some at the Slytherin table; they made no attempt to hide it from Malfoy.

"Just wait," Malfoy said, addressing both Ron and those at his table who laughed. "My uncle Julius is signed up for the Third Round – he'll get it open. You just wait and see."

"Yeah, we'll see," Ron drawled, imitating Malfoy's bored voice and turning away. Turning to Harry, he said in a low voice, "Malfoy's got an Uncle Julius? I wonder what bog he crawled out of?"

"Dunno," Harry said, just as low. "Never heard of him before today."

Hermione continued reading, summarizing as she read: "The second contestant was Llewellyn Glainhorne, from Winchester, Hampshire… he's an employee of the Ministry of Magic, it doesn't say what department, though."

"Probably Department of Mysteries, then," Ron suggested. "They don't like to say much about where they work since Bertha Jorkins was murdered."

Hermione continued: "Mr. Glainhorne spent about 20 minutes studying the Vault before attempting to open it by placing a charm on the locking mechanism that greatly amplified the sounds made while turning the external knob. However, Mr. Glainhorne was only able to work on the knob for a few seconds before his ears began to grow in size and sensitivity. He stopped, complaining that all sounds were now being magnified to the point where even hearing the crowd's heartbeats and inhalations and exhalations were painful. He was taken to St. Mungo's were he was treated and released the next day."

"It's pretty clear that Vault doesn't want anyone getting into it," Dean Thomas observed. Seamus, sitting next to him, nodded agreement.

"What happened to the last two competitors, Hermione?" Ron asked.

Hermione scanned the article text. "The third contestant was a registered Animagus, a Mr. Acaro Tularem of Lyme Stoats, Berkshire. The article says he tried to enter the Vault by assuming his Animagus form, that of a tick – eeeyuuu – but after only about 30 seconds he was discharged from the mechanism, whereupon he fell to the ground and grew, still in tick form, to the size of approximately a milk cow. He is still under observation at St. Mungo's, where one Healer described his condition as 'large and scary'." A few Hufflepuff girls, listening nearby, made noises of disgust and giggled among themselves. Hermione herself shook her head, grimacing, then continued reading about the final contestant.

"The fourth contestant, a witch who identified herself as Doris Crockford, of London, attempted to Vanish the Vault door, but instead she disappeared herself. Attempts to locate her have so far been unsuccessful; a frequent patron of the Leaky Cauldron, Mrs. Crockford's absence was notable especially to Mr. Thomas Edenhall, proprietor of the Leaky Cauldron, who said, 'I knew somethin' was wrong Saturday night when Dorrie didn't show up for her evening constitutional. You could set your watch by her, you could; she always had a smile for you, an' everyone who knew her liked her.'"

It was nearly time for their first Monday class, Herbology. Harry, Ron and Hermione gathered up their book bags and raced off to the greenhouse where Professor Sprout, after collecting their essays comparing the various properties of wand woods, began a discussion of the subject, describing the magical uses of "flying rowans," why very few Slytherin students used ash wands, and why oak was considered in some circles to be the best wood for mantelpieces on fireplaces.

For their practical lesson that day, Professor Sprout was bringing round a set of small stone basins to each group of students. "If you'll split into pairs," she told the class, "I have some different woods here for you; I'd like you all to observe what happens when a little experiment is performed with them."

Ron was next to Hermione, leaving Neville the closest free person to Harry. "Shall we pair up for this, Harry?" Neville said heartily. "It's been a while since we've talked."

Harry nodded absently. Although he didn't think much of what had got into Neville since Voldemort disappeared, there was no denying that he was gifted in Herbology and was easily the best student of his age in the class, next to Hermione.

"How have you and Ginny been getting on?" Neville asked after Professor Sprout had handed him and Harry each a handful of branches, each about a foot long and each labeled with the type of wood it was: birch, rowan, ash, oak, holly, elder and others. Harry recognized some of them as being wand woods.

"We're doing fine, Neville, but we're not 'together' any more," Harry said, more curtly than he meant to. "How are you and Luna doing?"

"Super," Neville said, smiling broadly.

Lowering his voice, Harry said, in genuine concern, "I was a bit worried when I saw you two talking in our dormitory; she looked pretty upset."

Neville had an indulgent smile on his face; it was a most un-Neville-like expression. "Luna is sometimes a bit overprotective of me. You know, I was something of a prat when I was younger."

Not knowing what to say, Harry just put a skeptical expression on his face. "Oh it's true!" Neville said, taking it as if Harry'd disagreed with him. "I walked around practically scared of my own shadow. The teachers were always taking the mickey out of me – particularly Snape. Well, except for Professor Sprout," Neville amended himself, nodding fondly toward their Herbology teacher. "She's really given me a lot of encouragement over the last six years."

"I'm glad to hear that," Harry said earnestly.

"If you would, please," Professor Sprout was saying, "fill your basin with water and I'll come round momentarily and add a little something to each one." Students began pulling out their wands and using them to fill the basins. Harry and Neville both took out their wands at the same time; Harry started to say the spell but Neville stopped him. "No, please Harry, let me."

Harry nodded and Neville said "_Aguamenti_." A stream of water from his wand filled the stone basin almost to the brim. Neville, smiling and holding up his wand, said, "I wanted to use mine because I think I know what Professor Sprout is going to have us do," and my wand is made from cherry."

Harry nodded again, though not because he knew what Neville was getting at. Looking over at Hermione and Ron, Harry saw Ron carrying a pitcher of water from the clear spring water supply nearby; Hermione had apparently insisted on using it rather than water from either of their wands.

Professor Sprout approached, carrying a very small potion bottle. Into Harry and Neville's basin she poured just a few drops of the liquid, which swirled and spread throughout the water. She did the same for Ron and Hermione's basin and continued with the rest of the class. Then, putting the top back into the bottle she returned to the front of the class. "I've added a few drops of dragon blood to your basins. If you'll recall, one of the uses of dragon's blood is its responsiveness to magical ability. I want each of you take the pieces of wood I've given you and stir the water slowly with them, observing the effect each one has on the dragon's blood."

Students got busy following Professor Sprout's instructions. "I've heard about this," Harry heard Hermione saying to Ron. "It should be interesting to see how each of the woods react."

Harry pulled a stick of wood from his bundle. Neville did the same. Harry recognized the wood, but checked the label to be sure – it was oak. "Go ahead, Harry," Neville encouraged him. Harry gingerly stuck the tip of the oak into the basin and began stirring slowly.

Nothing seemed to happen at first, but Harry finally saw that there was a faint glow coming from the water as he stirred it. Looking closer, he saw that the dragon's blood not just reddish in color, but was actually _glowing_ red as well. "It's red!" he said to Neville, who nodded and smiled.

"If you haven't thought of it by now," Professor Sprout's voice carried over the comments and exclamations of the class. "You should be writing down what you see when stirring your basin with a given stick. Also be sure to note who was doing the stirring." There was a general scrambling for parchment and quills – looking over, Harry saw that Hermione was already writing down what she and Ron had seen.

Neville, likewise, had already pulled out parchment and quill. "I kind of knew what to expect," he told Harry softly. "Professor Sprout does this in every seventh-year class – I heard about it last year."

He finished writing Harry's wood and color combination and then dipped his own stick in. "This is holly," he said, looking at Harry.

"My wand is willow," Harry said. He watched the swirling water carefully. After several seconds the dragon's blood began glowing a deep blue, almost purple.

"Purple," Harry said.

"More like indigo," Hermione said. She was looking into their basin as Neville stirred the holly stick. "That's a good color, Harry – it indicates a protection from Dark magic."

"Yes," Neville agreed, looking at her. "Have you seen this practical before?"

"I've read about it in a book on wands," Hermione said. "It's an interesting test although I'm not sure we're doing it the right way here."

Neville look mildly nonplussed. "Why do you say that?"

"The dragon's blood could also be influenced by the person stirring it as well as by the wood," Hermione pointed out. "The color could reflect the emotional state or even the overall personality of the person stirring the dragon's blood solution as well as the type of wood stirring it."

"I've read that too," Neville said. "It seems like the person would have to be in a very emotional state or concentrating very hard for their personality to overwhelm the wood's magical capacities."

Ron caught Harry's eye and rolled his own, making Harry grin. All the same, he thought, he never expected to see Hermione and Neville having a debate over magic!

Later, after they had tried several more sticks and written up their findings, turning them in to Professor Sprout, Hermione and Neville took up their discussion again as Harry and Ron tagged along behind, Harry listening and Ron seemingly lost in his own thoughts.

"I wonder how we could measure the influence a person has over the color signature compared to the wood," Neville was saying as they walked toward the Gryffindor common room. "The books I've read didn't think there would be much contribution."

"Normally there isn't," Hermione conceded. "But you can't be completely isolated from the wood, either; part of the effect comes from the person who's stirring the solution. You just have to know that some of the color contribution can come from other than the wood itself."

They were at an intersection in the corridor and Neville stopped, about to go the other way. "I'm meeting Luna for last period so we can do some studying together. But I'm glad we had a chance to talk, Hermione!"

"I am too," she agreed, beaming at Neville. "I'm really happy to see how much you've advanced in this last year, Neville!"

Neville smiled, looking shy for a change. "You can thank Luna for that – she's been pushing me to learn more this year about as many subjects as I can. That is," he added, chuckling, "if I can get her to stop talking about that Vault long enough to get our schoolwork done."

"Is she interested in that too?" Ron chimed in.

"She's practically obsessed over it," Neville said, shaking his head but still smiling. "Sometimes I think that's the only thing we've talked about the Monday after those competitions, with her pouring over the paper for every detail she can find on it."

"D'you think she'd like to see it in person?" Ron asked shrewdly.

Neville laughed. "She's _begged_ me go there with her! I probably should," he admitted, "rather than risk her going alone."

Harry was thinking of asking what the risk would be in her going alone when Ron spoke.

"Well, we have a friend, Jonathan Crown, who has a car that can carry a load of people," Ron said. Harry and Hermione glanced at each other in shock: _Why_ had Ron just divulged that secret? True, it was Neville, Harry thought, but they should've cleared it with Jon first.

"I know Jon," Neville said, a pensive expression on his face. "He never mentioned anything like that to me. But I'll see if Luna would like to go next time. It's the weekend after next, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Ron said. "Could be laughs to see it all together, especially if someone manages to open it."

"Yeah," Neville said. "Well I've got to run. See you all later!" And he trotted off down the corridor.

"You probably shouldn't have invited him and Luna along without clearing it with Jon," Hermione told him sternly after Neville was out of sight.

"Why?" Ron shrugged. "There's plenty of room in his car!"

"Not the point, Ron," Harry said, frowning. "It's imposing on Jon's hospitality."

"Oh, he's not going to care," Ron said dismissively. "He's got so many people going now two more aren't going to matter." And he wouldn't be swayed from that opinion.

As it turned out, Luna _did_ want to go see the Gringotts Mystery Vault; she mentioned how excited she was every time she saw one of them over the next week and a half before the Third Round. And, it was fine with Jon for her and Neville to travel with them, although he pointed out that it was becoming more and more of a logistical problem with a half-dozen or more people walking up to the Shrieking Shack from Hogwarts, especially with two students (Ginny and Luna) who weren't seventh-years and therefore weren't even allowed out on liberty.

But they managed. On the day of Round Three, Neville accompanied Hermione, Ron, Jon and Deirdre as they signed out of the castle to walk over to Hogsmeade while Harry went with Ginny and Luna. Rather than go out through the Gryffindor common room, however, the three of them went out of the castle under the Invisibility Cloak using the path to the greenhouses, turning off along the way to head toward the Whomping Willow and its secret passage.

Luna was fascinated with the secret passage to the Shrieking Shack under the Whomping Willow; she pointed out that it supported the idea of a conspiracy by the subversive goblin rights group _Uggargligclog_, which was Gobbledegook for "Hiding under Trees," according to an article by her father in the_ Quibbler_. Harry and Ginny, following her along the passageway to the Shrieking Shack, looked at each other; Harry grinned while Ginny just shrugged.

With eight people having various conversations about the Corvette, the Vault, and who did what and with whom at school recently along with the every-increasing load of homework and study assignments in preparation for N.E.W.T.s, the trip went quickly.

Soon they were landing quietly in the car park Jon had found the last time they were there, and walking through the Leaky Cauldron on their way to Diagon Alley. Tom the barman, noticing them, didn't return Harry's wave but merely watched them pass through. Thinking he was irked at their continued tramping through the bar without stopping for a drink or even a short conversation, Harry resolved to say something to him on their way out. They would have to remember to leave a little extra time so they could get back to Hogwarts before six p.m. that evening.

In Diagon Alley, the crowd seemed even larger and more excited than during the first round. The group pushed its way along the crowded street, through throngs of window shoppers and other wizards and witches who were there to see the next set of competitors have a go at the Vault.

They finally arrived at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, crowded itself with customers before the beginning of the Third Round. Fred and George greeted them enthusiastically, especially Neville. "Good to see you again," Fred said, shaking Neville's hand.

"We always like to see the man who took care of Voldemort once and for all," George added, shaking his hand as well.

Neville looked embarrassed. "I don't talk about it much anymore," he said softly, almost in his characteristic mumble. He did look directly at George and said clearly. "I did what I had to do to protect myself, and Luna. I wish I could have saved G-Gran…" his voice trailed off, and he looked away.

Luna, who was standing beside Neville, spoke softly to him, "It's alright, if you want to talk about her, you know."

"I know," Neville said, still not looking at her or the Weasleys.

But Fred, rather than be abashed by Neville's sudden emotion, asked directly, "But do you think you've really killed him, Neville?"

"You know," George added, "When he attacked Harry all those years ago, he was hit with his own Killing Curse, which he'd tried to use on Harry. But he still came back."

"The only thing that was left of him was his hand," Neville said, almost defiantly. "Why would just a hand be left behind."

Harry could think of a reason, but said nothing. "What _did_ you hit him with, Neville?" Fred asked.

Neville shook his head in frustration. "I don't remember!"

"It must've been quite a curse," George mused, "to leave just that bit of him behind."

"I don't remember!" Neville repeated, almost shouting.

Hermione stepped forward. "Stop it!" she spat at Fred and George. "It's enough he had to go through all that – do you have to make him live it all over again?"

"Okay, okay," Fred said, though he didn't sound very contrite. "Neville, I'm sorry if we were being hard on you. We just want to be sure, you know?"

Neville looked at them warily for several moments, then nodded. "All right. I guess it still seems incredible to some people who've known me a while that I could ever do something like that."

"Forgiven?" Fred said, extending his hand.

"Sure," Neville said, shaking both his and George's hand.

"Well," Fred said briskly. "We need to get some things in the back, and there's customers to wait on – _including ones trying to nick stuff_!" he said loudly, flicking his wand at a boy with his hand in a box. There was a BANG and the boy landed on his backside, looking surprised. He immediately jumped up and ran out of the store.

"_And don't come back_!" Fred shouted after him. In a normal voice, he continued speaking as if there'd been no interruption. "Look around, enjoy yourselves. If you have any questions, Verity'll be happy to answer them or come get us." Before he turned away, Fred caught Harry's eye and his head gave a small jerk toward the back. He and George walked toward the back.

Pretending to walk through the aisles looking at things, Harry made his way to the back of the store where Fred and George were waiting in their office. Closing the door, he said without preamble, "Neville didn't kill Voldemort."

"Agreed," George said. "The question is, who wants us to think he did?"

"Voldemort, of course!" Harry said, as if it should be obvious.

"Maybe," Fred said. "But maybe not."

"Who, then?" Harry asked, curious about what Fred was thinking.

"Could be Snape," Fred said, counting off one on his hand.

"Could be Malfoy," George said. Fred counted off another finger.

"Could even be Bellatrix Lestrange," Fred added another finger. "She's always claimed to be his most loyal follower, though, so don't think there's much weight to support that."

"That's a lot of 'could be's,'" Harry admitted. "But even if Snape or Malfoy actually did it, they might have been acting under Voldemort's orders."

"True," Fred agreed.

"So," Harry said, remembering the note he'd received from them. "What did you two want to talk to me about?"

"What d'you mean?" Fred asked, perplexed. "We thought _you_ had questions for _us_."

Harry frowned, confused. "What questions?"

"About revelation spells," George said. "_You_ sent _us_ a post, remember?"

"I did? I don't remember doing that."

"Nevertheless," Fred said, "we have the answers even if you don't remember the questions. George?"

George pulled out a parchment shee with several spells listed on it. "We compiled a short list," he said. "Scarpin's Revelaspell is at the top, of course, just as a reference point."

"Its disadvantage," Fred said, "is that it only works on active spells and enchantments, and on the current properties of the object it's used on. So _Specialis Revelio_ is useless if the object or person is no longer enchanted or the spell has worn off."

"Here, however," George said, pointing a bit further down the page, "we have an interesting little spell: _Prior Revelio_, which reveals whether a spell has ever been cast on the object, or person. And also this –" his finger moved down the page "– _Preteritus Revelio_, which reveals the history of spells cast on the object or person."

"I haven't seen any of these spells listed in any of the Standard Book of Spells books," Harry remarked, scanning the descriptions of the spells George had shown him.

"Not enough room, for one thing," Fred replied. Most schoolbooks only have the basics."

"And for another," George added, more seriously, "the Ministry has usually frowned on 'overeducating' students."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry asked, surprised.

"You remember how upset Cornelius Fudge got when he thought Dumbledore might be training students to help him in a bid to overthrow him at the Ministry," Fred reminded him. "You can see that sort of thing all through the recent history of the Ministry. It doesn't want students taught _too_ well, overall. We might get ideas, you know," he finished slyly.

"That's probably why most of the formal training done after a wizard becomes fully qualified, is conducted by the Ministry itself," George added. "Like an Auror or a Healer, for example."

Ron's voice suddenly came from the front of the shop, "Oi! Harry! Where you at? Let's go get something to eat!"

Harry stood up. "I'll remember those two spells – _Prior Revelio_ and, umm… "

"_Preteritus Revelio_," Fred prompted. "We've tried 'em and they work, mate. All you need to do is catch Neville when he's asleep – that shouldn't be too hard since he shares the same dormitory as you."

"Right," Harry said. "Oh, that reminds me! We found a book in the school Library a few weeks ago, about chartered accountancy –"

"Hello, that rings a bell." Fred and George were looking at each other bemusedly. "There was something about a note…"

"Yes," Harry said quickly. "There's a hidden compartment in your bedpost in your old dormitory, Fred. It was a note you wrote to yourself to get the book out of the Library –"

"Yeah, I remember that," Fred said, thinking furiously. "Every day, I remember now, I would look in that compartment and read the note. But I can't ruddy remember what was important about that book –!"

"Harry!" It was Hermione's voice now. "Where are you?!"

"Coming!" Harry yelled back. To Fred and George he said quickly, "We found the note and went and got the book. It turns out the book was created by Remus Lupin to describe how he and the other Marauders created the Marauder's Map."

Both Fred and George's mouths dropped open. Harry chuckled. "Never thought I'd see both of you speechless."

"Harry, that's _excellent_!" Fred said enthusiastically. "Did it describe how the Map works?"

"Yes," Harry nodded. "We figured that's how you learned how to use it."

"So you've been reading it?" George asked.

"No," Harry said, chagrinned. "I mislaid it somewhere, I can't remember where. Ron and I've practically torn our dormitory apart trying to figure out where it went."

"Check the Library," Fred said seriously. "I'm not sure but I seem to recall that's why I left the note to myself to get it from the Library every day – it kept going back there at night while we were sleeping."

Harry thumped himself in the head. "I dunno why I didn't think of that!"

"You better get going," George said. "Don't forget those spells! And don't use them on Neville unless he's asleep or unconscious, or he'll know what spells were on him as well."

Harry raced out of the office and back up front, where he found the group ready to go to lunch. They ate at another one of the small cafés near Gringotts, now all packed with customers getting their midday meal before the third round of the Tournament began.

"D'you think we'll see Malfoy here?" Ron asked Harry as they ate their hamburgers at the café.

Harry shrugged. "Probably, if his uncle's here. The way he talked about him, the Vault Tournament will be over when he has a go at the Vault."

Ron looked worried. "I've got to figure out what it is about the Vault that looks familiar to me," he said in a low voice. "I've mentioned it to Hermione but she doesn't see what I mean. There's some other magical artifact it reminds me of."

As Harry had no idea what the Vault might remind Ron of he said nothing. The group finished lunch, paid for their food and began making their way toward Gringotts where the Mystery Vault still stood outside the front doors. With the crowds even heavier than before they weren't able to get near to the podium where Bill would run the event. There was no one sitting in the chairs next to the podium.

People were beginning to notice Neville, however, and some of the crowd had come up to shake his hand and congratulate him. Neville was smiling and nodding at those offering congratulations, but didn't seem to be basking in the glow of his notoriety, as he had previously. Luna, at his side, was thanking Neville's well-wishers as well. They did make a nice couple, Harry admitted to himself, even if he couldn't see it several months ago.

Harry's musing came to an abrupt end, however, as Draco Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, suddenly appeared in front of Neville and Luna. "Look who's here," Malfoy said, sneering at them. "The 'Boy Who Survived' and his loony girlfriend."

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" Neville said coolly. "I heard you had detention with Tonks today."

"Ditched it," Malfoy said, grinning. Crabbe and Goyle chuckled nastily. "I came to see my uncle win the Vault Tournament."

"Oh yeah, you were bragging about that last week, weren't you?" Neville remembered. "I suppose we should hope he doesn't end up twisted into a pretzel or a deboned like a fish filet. But since he's your uncle," he continued, "I'll make an exception."

Malfoy eyes narrowed and he reached for his wand. Neville did so as well, and they drew at the same time. Luna and the rest of the group, Harry and Ron included, also drew and pointed their wands at Malfoy.

Crabbe and Goyle, who'd been cracking their knuckles menacingly, were caught flatfooted. They began to go for their own wands, but Jon said "Don't!" and they froze.

The crowd surrounding them had suddenly faded away, leaving the two groups exposed. Malfoy probably hadn't paid attention to who was behind Neville and Luna, Harry realized.

Malfoy recovered quickly, however. Dropping his wand-arm, he said loudly, for everyone to hear, "Now's not the time or place if you want to duel me, Longbottom. Look me up afterwards – if you don't chicken out, that is." Malfoy turned on his heel and walked away, with Crabbe and Goyle in tow. To someone who hadn't heard their entire conversation, it looked exactly like Malfoy had refused a public duel but hadn't backed down from it, leaving Neville to look like the aggressor.

Neville sagged, and Luna and Ginny both began talking to him. The crowd noise had resumed so Harry couldn't hear what they were saying. He pushed forward so he could hear. "You know what the truth is, Neville," Ginny was saying determinedly to him. "You know Malfoy is a lying git from the get-go."

"I know," Neville mumbled.

"Then start _acting_ like it!" Ginny said fiercely. "You're acting like he's right, like _you_ started that fight!"

"She's right, Neville," Harry said. Neville looked up at Harry, then nodded. He took a deep breath and stood up straight.

Looking gratefully at Ginny and Harry, said, "You're right, both of you. I know Malfoy's a liar and a coward. I just can't ever seem to say the right thing to him."

"As long as you can do the right thing when the time comes," Harry said, hefting his wand suggestively. The others in the group around them nodded as well.

That seemed to hearten Neville. "Right. Let's watch the Tournament," he said, now sounding much more confident. "I'm ready to watch his uncle try his best on the Vault."

"And fail miserably," Ron put in. They moved toward the ropes surrounding the Vault until they were within a few steps of them. A minute or so later Bill Weasley appeared from the front doors of Gringotts, striding onto the stand where the podium was.

"Welcome to Round Three of the Vault Tournament," Bill said, his voice again magically amplified. We hope you're ready to see some top-class spellwork here today." The crowd shouted its enthusiasm. "That's the spirit!" Bill chimed in.

"The first eight contestants have failed, so far, to open the Vault; this round we have four more contenders who will be pitting their skills against it.

"Our first wizard, hailing from Aberdeen, Scotland, is Mr. Julius Malfoy." A tall, thin figure stepped through the Gringotts doorway and strode toward the podium. Harry had never seen him before but it was obvious he was a Malfoy. Like his brother Lucius, Julius Malfoy had blond hair, worn shoulder length; he was thinner, however, and wore a pointed goatee. He had a cold, detached look, and did not seem to notice the crowd at all, even when Harry saw Draco waving at him in another section of onlookers. Walking up to the hourglass timer, he slid his token into the slot and immediately walked toward the Vault.

"He's a cool one," Jon observed quietly. "Hasn't said a word to anyone yet."

"He's certainly taking this seriously," Hermione agreed, watching Malfoy cast several spells at the Vault, seemingly without waiting for the results of each previous one. Ron was watching each of Malfoy's spells intently, as if trying to understand what each one was doing. Neville and Luna were similarly engrossed.

_Is it right of me to determine if Neville had been Imperiused_? Harry wondered, watching his fascinated observation of Julius Malfoy's attempt to open the Vault. Neville was not, after all, merely an object to be scanned for magic; he was a wizard, like Harry, and he had a right (no matter what the Ministry might think) to know what was going on. But it was such a tricky ethical tightrope, Harry knew; if Neville was aware of what they suspected, he might fight them to protect himself, just as Harry would fight to protect the secrets he'd held with Dumbledore.

"Fifteen minutes," Bill announced.

Ironically, it had been Draco Malfoy who'd raised this issue in Harry's mind, by challenging Neville earlier that day. How would the bullying and sneaking around Draco did, in this and previous years, be any different than what Harry would be doing by stealing upon Neville in the middle of the night to take information from him as he slept, even if Harry rationalized it as being for Neville's "own good?" Harry couldn't see a satisfactory answer.

"Five minutes," Bill announced. The crowd, which had been noisy for the last several minutes, grew quiet as Malfoy stepped in front of the Vault and cast several more spells, watching carefully the patterns of the light that formed around the Vault after each spell.

But with less than a minute left, Malfoy finally turned to Bill and shook his head slowly.

"Mr. Malfoy has declined to attempt to open the Vault," Bill announced to the crowd.

"NO!" someone in the crowd had shouted this; Harry, looking over, saw it was Draco, who was now pushing his way around trying to get to his uncle, who had turned and was walking toward Gringotts. Draco finally changed direction and tried to go under the ropes surrounding the Vault; when it repelled him, he took out his wand and, with an upward gesture, soared into the air, over the ropes and onto the platform next to his uncle, who turned to him with a startled expression on his face. He began speaking to Draco.

The crowd was clamoring about the unusual goings-on; Harry couldn't hear the conversation Draco and his uncle were having. And he desperately wanted to know why Draco thought it was important enough to act like that in public.

Suddenly he remembered – Extensible Ears! If only he'd left them in these robes! Harry fumbled in the pockets. Yes! Out of one came a flesh-colored string. Unraveling it quickly, Harry held one end near his ear and hissed "Go!" to the other end, which quickly slithered off across the ground and onto the platform toward Draco and his uncle.

"– You could've at least tried!" Draco was saying, his voice taut with emotion, to his uncle. "Mother and I were counting on you, for Father's sake!"

"I know, much more so than you do, Draco, what your father has been dealing with this past year," Julius Malfoy replied. "Your mother begged me to do this as well." Harry saw the older Malfoy give his nephew a hard look. "She has her own reasons, and her own agenda." He started to turn away, but Draco grabbed his arm.

"She wants Father freed!" Malfoy said. "She's been doing everything she can to get him freed!"

"Do you really think so, Draco?" Julius smiled coldly. "Well, I shan't disabuse you of that notion, though I daresay if she were completely honest with you, you would have quite a different opinion of her than you do now."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Draco demanded.

"Only that we all have our agendas, Nephew. Now," Julius said, producing a pair of traveling gloves. "I must be off toward home. I'll contact your mother about my attempt to open the Vault, and give her some alternatives about future possibilities."

Draco reached for him again, but Julius stepped nimbly back, and before Draco could recover he'd turned on his heel and Apparated away. Draco stared after him a moment, in shock, then cursed and ran down the steps and into the crowd, leaving Crabbe and Goyle looking around for him in confusion.

Harry pulled in the Extensible Ear and dropped it back into his pocket. Only then did he notice that everyone else in his group – Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville and Luna, and even Jon and Deirdre – were watching him with frank curiosity.

Back on the podium, Bill was attempting to regain control of the proceedings. "Everyone settle down," he said, signaling for quiet. "We'll bring out our next contestant, who – wait," he stopped himself as a paper airplane soared out of the Bank and began circling him. Catching the airplane out of the air, he unfolded it and read.

"It seems our next contestant has declined his turn," Bill said apologetically. "As has our third and fourth contestants. This means that the Third Round of the Vault Competition has completed. Unless," he added, hopefully, "A future contestant is in the audience today and would like to take his turn now? Anyone?"

After nearly a minute with no reply, Bill sighed and said, "Thank you, everyone, and have a pleasant day." He walked slowly back to the Bank's front doors as the crowd grumbled and complained about the shortness of the event.

Neither Harry nor anyone in his group had said anything while Bill was speaking. "Let's go back to Fred and George's for a minute," he said, walking in that direction. "Where we can talk."

Once there and gathered in the back, he recounted the conversation between Draco and his uncle. "I don't know what Draco's uncle could have meant by his mother's 'agenda,' " Harry finished.

"Do you think it has something to do with Voldemort?" Jon asked.

"No idea," Harry said. "But they probably wouldn't have discussed it openly if it did."

"Could the Vault have something to do with getting Malfoy's dad out of Azkaban?" Ron suggested.

"If it does, they may know something about it that we don't," Hermione said.

"But how could they, if nobody's known anything about it for 30 years?" Ron protested.

"_As far as we know_, Ron," Hermione pointed out. "If the Malfoy family has connections at Gringotts, they may have some idea that we don't.

"Oh, _great_," Ron said, exasperated. "So now you're suggesting that this Tournament is fixed!"

"No, I'm not!" Hermione objected. "If it were, Julius Malfoy might have opened it just now and that would be the end of it. I'm just trying to think why a wizard would spend almost 30 minutes casting spells on a vault only to give up his chance to open it."

"And what have you come up with?" Jon asked.

"Well, either he didn't find out enough to make the attempt, or he did and was afraid to try," Hermione ventured.

"Or, he did and he didn't want to try just then," Jon added.

Hermione looked startled, but said, "Yes, that's possible too."

Jon looked at his watch. "We can continue this discussion on the way back to school," he said. "We'll have just enough time to fly back, put the car away, and walk back to the school before six p.m."

They said goodbye to Fred and George, who gave Harry a thumbs-up; Harry, still not sure what to do, merely nodded. The group made its way along Diagon Alley to the entrance and through the Leaky Cauldron, where a few patrons watched them plaintively as they hurried through. Harry, seeing Tom watching him again, remembered that he was going to have a word with him. He walked over to the barman and said, "Sir, I'm sorry we keep coming back and forth through here and hardly stop, even for a quick word –"

Tom nodded somberly. "I understan', Harry. There's always important things to be done an' places to go." He pointed to a small table where a lone picture frame stood. "I'd jus' hoped that you could spend at least a moment payin' yer respects to her. She was a great fan o' yers, you know."

"Who?" Harry said, confused, looking over at the table. The picture standing on it was too small for him to make out at this distance.

"Why, Doris, of course," Tom said, now sounding surprised. "D'you remember all those years ago, when you firs' came through here with Hagrid? She was so proud to meet you, she must've shook yer hand about a dozen times."

Harry walked over to the table and picked up the picture. The woman smiling and waving at him was indeed the woman who'd shaken his hand so many times that day, the day Harry had learned he was a wizard. _That_ was why her name had sounded so familiar to him when Hermione had read it in the _Prophet_!

"I _do_ remember her," Harry said, putting the frame back on the table. "But _why_ was she trying to compete in the Vault competition? That – er – didn't seem to be along the lines of her interests."

"Blessed if I know," Tom said sadly. "Some of us did think it was a bit strange of her, wantin' to do somethin' like that."

"Didn't you question her about it?" Harry pressed.

"A few o' the boys did," Tom said, walking back behind the bar and drawing a couple of pints for a customer. "They asked her what her angle was, tryin' to win somethin' some o' the best wizards in the world would be tryin' for.

"Know what she told 'em?" Tom said, breaking into a toothless grin. "Said she needed to associate with a purer class o' wizards! Boy, those rascals sure shut their traps fast when she said that!" Tom chuckled.

Harry had caught a word Tom had used, though, and said, "Thanks, Tom. I've got to get going, but I'm glad you reminded me about Doris. I'm sorry she's gone."

Tom nodded, his grin fading, and Harry hurried out of the Cauldron and up Charing Cross Road toward the side street where Jon's Corvette was parked. He jumped into the front seat next to Ron and Jon pulled out of the car park onto the side road. In quick order he turned on the Invisibility Cloak, angled the car into the air, rising above the surrounding buildings, then steered northward and accelerated to 260 m.p.h.

"Where were you when we were going back to the Corvette?" Ron asked, once they were on their way back.

"Remember the name Doris Crockford from the Second Round of the Vault Tournament?" Harry told him. Ron shrugged.

"I guess," he said vaguely.

"I met her the day I learned I was a wizard, when Hagrid brought me to Diagon Alley. She was in the Leaky Cauldron, and she kept shaking my hand."

"Okay, but so what?" Ron wanted to know.

"So Doris Crockford wasn't the kind of person who'd be trying to open the Vault of Mystery," Harry replied. "She was just an average witch who met someone she'd been hearing about for the last ten years. She didn't belong in the Vault Tournament at all."

"So why was she there?"

"I don't know, but it makes me think about another person who was somewhere she shouldn't have been – Bertha Jorkins."

"Aha," Ron said. "So you suspect, er, You-Know-Who's involved?"

"Him, or Snape or Malfoy, I'd bet," Harry said grimly. "But now that Doris is gone, I don't know how I'm going to figure out how she was involved, unless she turns up again somewhere."

They arrived in Hogsmeade with 20 minutes to spare before the six p.m. curfew for seventh-years. Jon unlocked the door to the other areas of the Shrieking Shack so Harry, Ginny and Luna could return via the secret passage to the Whomping Willow, and from there to the school.

In the passageway, Luna was talking about the exposé her father was working on concerning the Gringotts goblins and the Mystery Vault – he learned that a radical house-elf group had obtained a secret goblin document called the Vault Strategy, that described a goblinish plan to take over Britian's Wizarding economy and topple the Ministry of Magic. The house-elves, Luna said, were planning to blackmail the Ministry, according to her father, to demand more elfish rights including three days holiday per year and a retirement plan for elves over 120.

"Er, Luna," Harry said, interrupting her. She went quiet and looked at him expectantly. Not sure quite how to proceed, Harry was hesitant.

"I, er, wonder if you've … if you've noticed a change in Neville recently," Harry began.

"Well..." Luna seemed to ponder this for several seconds as they walked along. "He's been more attentive lately since I suggested we might have to break up," she said finally.

Ginny, behind them, snorted, and Luna looked back at her. "No really, he has!" she said, missing the point of Ginny's amusement. "I'm glad I suggested we break up; it's really brought us closer."

"No, Luna," Harry said, shaking his head to avoid being distracted by her comment. "I meant, over the last several months, say – since August or so."

"Oh, since the attack by Voldemort," Luna said. "Well, he's not quite as obnoxious now as he was at first."

"You thought he was obnoxious?" Ginny said, sounding surprised. "Why didn't you say something to him then?"

"Well, I thought he was being rather sincerely obnoxious," Luna explained. "A lot of boys are so shallow when they're obnoxious. But Neville really believed the stories he was telling back then."

"Are you saying you don't?" Ginny asked shrewdly.

"I was there," Luna reminded her. "So I have to believe what I remember."

"Do you think what you remember is what actually happened?" Harry asked her.

"Well, how else would I remember it?" Luna asked reasonably.

Instead of answering that Harry asked, "If there was a way to know for sure what happened, would you want to know, even if it meant you and Neville might be wrong?"

"I'd always want to know what the truth was," Luna said simply. "I think that's always more important than who's right or wrong."

They'd come to the slope up to the opening between the roots of the Whomping Willow, and Harry climbed up first, then stood over the opening with his Invisibility Cloak over himself as Luna and Ginny climbed up. As they started to walk, however, Luna said, "Harry, we don't have to hide under your Cloak to walk back into school, you know."

"That's true," Harry admitted, and seeing no one around he took the Cloak off of them and folded it up. They walked into the entrance near the greenhouses and from there to the Entrance Hall where students were arriving to sign in, including Hermione, Ron, Neville, Jon and Deirdre.

Both Neville and Luna, and Jon and Deirdre went off to the Great Hall for supper, leaving Ginny with Harry, Ron and Hermione. As they walked that way as well, Ginny asked Harry, "Why were you asking Luna about knowing the truth about what happened with Neville during Voldemort's attack?"

"I had Fred and George find some revelation spells I could use to tell if Neville's been Imperiused or not," Harry said in a low voice.

"That won't tell you whether Voldemort did it or not, Harry," Hermione pointed out. "If we could tell that we could've told which Death Eaters were forced to join him and which did it on their own."

"But knowing _whether_ he was Imperiused or not is important too," Harry argued. "There's not many _good_ reasons to use the Imperius Curse on anyone, is there?"

Hermione had to admit this was true. After a quick meal she excused herself to go to the Library for a while. A few minutes after she left Harry suddenly slapped the table, startling Ron.

"What's up?" he asked, finishing off the last of the bangers and mash he'd piled onto his plate earlier.

"The book!" Harry said, jumping up from the table. "It keeps trying to slip out of my head, but Fred and George also told me to check the Library for it – they told me it keeps going back there every night! I don't know why I didn't think of checking there in the first place! Come on!"

They raced up to the Library and into the Muggle Studies section. Scanning through the shelves, it took several minutes but Harry finally found the book, now back in its chartered accountancy form. Opening it, he pointed to the sign-out page. "No one's checked it out," he said, pondering. "But Jon _said_ he checked it out when we took it last time."

"So it must erase all that information every night," Ron deduced, "when it reappears back in the Library. Impressive!"

"Let's find Hermione," Harry suggested. "She said she'd be here for a while."

They found her in the Historical section looking through old Wizarding genealogical books. "Hi," she said distractedly, pouring over pages in an old book on Hogwarts history. "I'm glad you're here, I may have something to show you in a bit."

"We have something, too," Harry said, holding out the accountancy book. "We found Lupin's book."

"Good," she said, not looking up.

Harry and Ron looked at each other. "And we found Jon and Lavender Brown snogging in the Restricted said," Ron added, winking at Harry.

"Good," she said again. Then, "_What_?"

"Shhhhh!" Madam Pince suddenly appeared from behind a nearby set of shelves, shushing them. "This is a library, not a public house! Keep your voices down, please!" With a disapproving glare at the three of them, she vanished again into the rows of bookshelves.

"Just checking," Ron said softly. "What are you doing?"

"Do you remember the Helm of Gryffindor?" Hermione said, going back to pouring over the book she was looking through.

Both Harry and Ron looked at her blankly.

Hermione rolled her eyes and said, "Sorry, should've known better than ask. It's supposed to be one of the lost artifacts of Godric Gryffindor, but most of the Wizarding world considers it a legend. Gryffindor was supposedly given a special goblin-made helmet, made by Agred the Artisan, for saving his clan from destruction by the Dark wizard Cranswurf Oxforn.

"Must've slipped my mind," Ron said, the corners of his mouth twitching.

"_Considers_ it a legend," Harry repeated, seizing upon Hermione's key phrase. "Are you saying it's not?"

"The Agred story is the only reference to the artifact. Listen –" Hermione said, then began reading from the book. "'Agred's gift to Gryffindor was, like the sword the Hogwarts founder possessed, crafted of finest silver, made indestructible by goblin cunning and magic. Upon its front, the skilled goblin artisan had set an image of a lion rampant in the Gryffindor crest.'"

"So this Arrgh –"

"_Agred_, Ron!"

"– Okay, this _Agred_ is a good helmet-maker," Ron said with a shrug. "So what's the point?"

"The point is, let me finish reading," Hermione said impatiently, and continued. "'Then roundabout this crest did the clever goblin set eight perfect rubies, each as red as dragon's blood and each the size of a man's thumbnail, in honor of his eight children that mighty Gryffindor had saved.'"

"So, a helmet with Gryffindor's blazon on it, and eight large rubies surrounding it," Harry mused. "No wonder it's regarded as a legend. A helmet like that would be obvious to anyone."

"Well, you'd think so, wouldn't you?" Hermione said, her voice laced with irony. "But have a look at _this_."

She'd picked up a large, leather-bound book lying next to her elbow and flung it open in front of them. It was a genealogical book of pureblood Wizarding families, and the family pictured on the page made Harry wince; they were about the least attractive set of people he'd ever seen.

The father in the picture was a great hulking figure of a man; he stood head and shoulders taller than the woman next to him, presumably his wife. She stood stiffly next to him – unsmiling, nearly frowning, they both barely moved even though like all Wizarding pictures they were capable of motion.

But the boy standing in front of them made Harry do a double-take. His heavy face and flat nose, and bowl haircut were unmistakable. "Crabbe!" he said loudly.

"_Shhhh_!" Madam Pince hissed as she reappeared, admonishing them all with a stiffly wagging finger. "Any more disturbances like that and out you _all_ go!" Casting another furious glare at them, the Hogwarts librarian disappeared again.

"It _is_ a Crabbe," Hermione said softly, after Pince had gone. "But not who you think, Harry. This picture was taken in the mid-1960's – this isn't Vincent Crabbe, it's his father, William, and his parents, Edward and Ambrosia."

"Pretty close resemblance," Ron remarked with a grimace, "unfortunately."

"And we are looking at this, why?" Harry asked pointedly.

"You'll see, before long," Hermione told him. "He usually goes every five or ten minutes. Ah – watch!"

Crabbe, after looking at this father and mother, ran out of the frame for a few moments then returned with a small broadsword and helmet – a helmet, Harry noted with amazement as Crabbe placed it on his own head, whose front was adorned with a lion rampant inside a burnished crest, with eight gleaming jewels surrounding it!

"I was very lucky," Hermione said, although she managed to sound a trifle smug as she said it. "I had been looking through this book for some time, and I'd just turned to this page when I got a small paper cut from the parchment. I pushed the book away roughly and Madam Pince –" she lowered her voice "— came over and admonished me for mistreating her books. Can you imagine that?" she said, sounding outraged. "Me – mistreating books!"

"It _does_ seem far-fetched," Ron said with a chuckle.

Hermione shot him a piercing look but went on. "I was using my wand to heal the wound when I saw Crabbe walk into the frame with that helmet in his hand. For a while I didn't give it a second thought. There are a lot of heraldic crests that use a rampant lion. But none of them would be surrounded by eight perfect rubies."

"So what you're saying is," Harry said slowly, "is that the Helm of Gryffindor, thought to be a legend, actually exists – and it's being held by Death Eaters?"

"That's what I'm saying," Hermione said somberly, and she, Ron and Harry all regarded each other with concern. If this was true it meant it was very likely that Lord Voldemort had already obtained access to the Helm of Gryffindor – he would now have trophies from three of the four founders of Hogwarts.

That meant, in turn, that if Salazar Slytherin's locket and Helga Hufflepuff's cup were also used by Voldemort to hold fragments of his soul, and the first two Horcruxes were destroyed – Tom Riddle's diary and Marvolo Gaunt's ring were destroyed, that only one Horcrux remained to be discovered.


	21. The Potter Maneuver

Chapter 21

**The Potter Maneuver**

Gryffindor's first Quidditch match, with Hufflepuff, was drawing near. Despite his waning interest in Quidditch this year, Harry had to admit that, if anything could rekindle his enthusiasm, it would be flying Jon's specially-built brooms.

The team had been practicing with them for nearly a month now, and once everyone had gotten used to the higher accelerations and handling capabilities they were like a dream come true. Since they'd had the presentation party the entire school knew about the brooms (even Gryffindors weren't above boasting, especially when there was something to boast about), but Harry had asked the team to keep their speed and maneuvering capabilities quiet until it was time for the first match.

Practices had gone well. Natalie McDonald, the newest member of the team, had thrown herself into Quidditch with a passion. Ron had mentioned that she feinted well; quite a few of her goal attempts had gotten past him until he'd learned her technique – she was particularly good at flying for one goal but scoring with another, until he began stationing himself to protect multiple goals at the same time, no mean feat itself. Harry was pleased to see both his newest team member and his Keeper being stretched by the mutual competition.

Ginny and Demelza had groomed Natalie on their basic formations and scoring strategy, although it would probably be another game or so before she was ready for the really advanced techniques. Jimmy and Ritchie were improving steadily as well; they would never match Fred and George, but they got the job done, that was the important thing.

The Saturday of the match had begun as an overcast, blustery day; not great flying weather, but there was no sun to interfere with vision. It would also give Harry a slight edge, he hoped, in finding the Snitch since he'd always been good at spotting small, nearly imperceptible motions when he was looking for them.

In the common room before the match he found Ron sitting with Hermione, who was continuing to pour over the old Wizarding family books in search of other artifacts that Voldemort might have used as Horcruxes. Finding the Helm of Gryffindor had excited Hermione once she'd grasped she'd found an actual artifact based on her research. Ron had muttered, "Too bad we can't report it to anyone," and she'd swelled up indignantly until she realized he was right – they couldn't risk Voldemort learning that they knew about his interest in relics of the Hogwarts founders.

Ron was concentrating on an object he was holding. Harry leaned over to look at it; he was surprised to see it was a small model of the Mystery Vault. "Where'd this come from?" Harry asked, taking and examining it; it seemed to be an exact copy of the original, complete with moving tiles and knob.

"Fred and George started selling them a couple of weeks ago," Ron said. "Said they were flying off the shelves. Made me pay full price for it, too," he added indignantly.

"When did you get it?" Harry wondered. This was the first time he'd seen it.

"Last week, when we were at the Tournament. It's no big deal, I just forgot to mention it," he said, shrugging.

Hermione looked at him accusingly. "Ron, you've been at that thing every time we've been studying together this week."

Ron reddened. "I've been admiring their craftsmanship." Hermione snorted. "No, really! They did a great job. Look," he said, taking it back from Harry. "Watch, when you turn the knob the tiles move, just like the real one. Fred said they got the moves from the _Prophet_. I guess they've been watching every move that every contestant's made since the first Round."

Harry chuckled. "I guess when you get that opened, you'll be ready to give the real one a go, eh?"

"Well…" Ron pushed a small button on the back; the model popped open. "Of course this is just a toy, see? There's a catch in the back to open it. But it's a good way to see how the tiles move and turn."

Harry looked at Hermione, who shrugged. "What?" Ron said, catching the look.

"Nothing," Harry said, shaking his head. "We should get out to the pitch."

In the changing room before they took to the field, Harry praised the team for their recent practices and offered a rousing speech to fire them up for the game. They really were working well together; Natalie's skills had developed to complement both Ginny and Demelza. Harry considered her a rare find.

Once they were got to the pitch, however, things turned sour rapidly. Almost before he was out the door Madame Hooch and the Hufflepuff Captain were walking briskly toward him. The Gryffindor and Hufflepuff students already in the stands were shouting at each other across the pitch.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked as they stopped in front of him.

"May I see your broom, Mr. Potter?" Hooch said, extending her hand. Harry handed it over and she began examining it carefully. Harry looked at Summerby, the Hufflepuff Captain and Seeker. He was stone-faced and avoided Harry's eyes when Harry looked at him questioningly.

"What's going on?" Harry asked again, still not understanding.

"There's been a complaint lodged against the use of your non-standard brooms," Hooch said. She had taken out her wand and was making passes over his broom. "This broom was not produced by any of the Ministry-listed broom-makers, was it?"

"No," said Harry curtly. He was starting to get angry. "But there's no rule that says we have to use only brooms from the Ministry's list, is there?"

"No," Hooch said. She handed Harry's broom back. "But for safety's sake, we do require all students to use only brooms that have been made by a certified broom manufacturer or dealer. Unless you can provide proof that these brooms qualify, I'll have to ask that you not use them."

Summerby nodded, apparently satisfied with that, and didn't quite manage to hide his triumphant smirk. Harry gritted his teeth and, trying to stay calm, said, "Professor Hooch, we've been practicing with these brooms for the past six weeks. The entire school's known about them, and nobody's said a thing about this until today. We haven't had a single problem with them acting erratically or misbehaving. It's really lousy timing to bring it up just before a game."

"I'm sorry, Potter," Hooch said, "but if you had brought this to my attention when you first began using the brooms I could have rendered a decision for you then."

Harry, feeling helpless, looked around the stands, wondering if Jon had come to the game. He saw him sitting next to Hermione. Lifting his broom, he pointed at it and shook his head in an exaggerated side-to-side motion. He saw Hermione nudge Jon and point his way.

At that moment he headmistress came striding up to the group, looking concerned. "What's the problem here?" McGonagall wanted to know.

"They're saying we can't use our brooms unless we prove they're safe," Harry said at once.

McGonagall looked at him, then at Professor Hooch, who raised an eyebrow at her. McGonagall turned back to Harry. "Can you prove your brooms are safe, Potter?"

Harry opened his mouth, but had no idea what he could say. The brooms had worked flawlessly all this time, but all his protestations were not going to get around the fact he had no proof. He finally closed his mouth, sighed and started to turn and tell his team to get out their old brooms.

A voice behind him said "Here's proof," and a hand with a card in it was held out to Professor Hooch, who took and began scanning it carefully.

Harry turned. Jon was standing beside him. "Sorry, Harry," he said in a low voice. "I keep forgetting nobody over here knows much about broom racing." He handed Harry a card as well.

Both Hooch and McGonagall were frowning at the card Jon had given them, although McGonagall looked much less skeptical than Hooch. Harry looked at the card in his hand:

**Crown Racing Brooms  
**_Jonathan W. Crown  
_Certified Virgavolatilologist  
Custom Hi-Performance Racing Brooms  
1217 Oak Pine, Texas

"Impressive, if true," Hooch said, looking anything but impressed. "But I need something more official than this, Mr. Crown."

Jon had been going through his wallet and handed her another card. This one gave both Hooch and McGonagall pause; McGonagall took out her own wand and tapped the card lightly. A man's voice said in an impressive baritone, "This is to certify that Jonathan W. Crown has satisfactorily completed all requisite courses and examinations in the North American Academy of Magical Flying Objects, as attested by James Wellington Wimple, President of the Academy, as of the date inscribed on this card."

"Hmm," Hooch said. She stared at the card for several seconds, then handed it back to Jon and looked at Harry. "Right. Off you go, then," she told him.

"WHAT?" Summerby shouted.

"Please keep your voice down, Mr. Summerby," McGonagall said, wincing. "Mr. Crown has, per your request, provided proof of his qualifications in making flying brooms."

"But –"

"So unless you intend to forfeit the match to Gryffindor," McGonagall continued, ignoring Summerby's mutinous glare, "I suggest you and your team prepare to play."

Summerby turned away and walked back toward his team, shaking his head and muttering under his breath. "Thanks," Harry said to Jon. "I'd hate not using these brooms now that we've come this far with them."

Jon nodded. "Good luck, Harry," he said, and headed back to his seat.

After the teams were in position on the pitch and Hooch had given her customary fair play speech, a blast of her silver whistle sent fifteen brooms into the air and the game was on. Harry was still grinning, as had he and the other Gryffindors on the ground, at the looks of chagrin and disgust on the Hufflepuff team's faces as they'd realized their tactic hadn't worked. That, and a series of good offensive put up by Ginny, Demelza and Natalie, along with some outstanding Keeping by Ron and well-aimed Bludgers from Jimmy and Ritchie, were keeping the Hufflepuffs confused and nearly scoreless.

"It's really been Gryffindor's game today, I must say, Luna," Neville had asked to be commentator for the match, but he'd apparently neglected to mention that Luna would be co-commentator with him.

"Perhaps so," Luna replied, looking vaguely around the pitch. "But those blue robes are quite lovely. I think that will give them the edge later in the game."

"We'll see," Neville said, laughing. "Right now Gryffindor has the lead, 110 to 20."

Harry, who was flying above the Gryffindor goals, heard Ron's laughter. He looked up and saw Harry. "Crickey, she's a hoot!" he shouted.

"Just keep your eyes on the Quaffle, Ron!" Harry shouted down, but laughing as well. He was scanning the field for sign of the Snitch, while keeping an eye on Summerby as well, who was trying to rally his team to narrow the gap in the score.

"Hufflepuff is trying to catch up," Neville was saying. "Nice pass by Cadwallader to Justin Finch-Fletchley, he dodges a Bludger hit by Peakes and throws – oh! Good save by Weasley! Ron is doing an excellent job of Keeping today, right, Luna?"

"He is, Neville. He must not be as nervous about being Keeper as he used to be. Ginny told me once that he got so nervous when his brothers made him Keep for them in practice that he'd actually wet himself –"

"LUNA!" Ron bellowed from the pitch while the Hufflepuff side of the stands broke into peals of laughter. "YOU DON'T HAVE TO GET THAT RUDDY COLORFUL!"

"Oh, sorry," Luna said, smiling dreamily, not a bit abashed. McGonagall looked heavenward, shaking her head wearily.

Gryffindor continued to score goal after unanswered goal. Confident his Chasers had the offense well in hand, Harry concentrated on finding the Snitch. Summerby was dividing his concentration between looking for the Snitch and watching Harry, just as Harry kept an eye on him. Knowing what the other Seeker was doing was good strategy.

A few minutes later, after Gryffindor had scored four more times to Hufflepuff's one, Harry spotted the Snitch and aimed for it, his broom putting on a burst of speed that not even a Firestar could match. Summerby, seeing Harry's sudden change of speed, spun on his own broom and raced his way.

Summerby suddenly spun on his broom and raced off toward the edge of the pitch. Harry's eyes strained but there was no sign of the Snitch. What was Summerby doing?

There was a loud _crack_ just behind him and Harry turned, startled, to see Jimmy Peakes there; he'd just fended off a Bludger hit toward Harry by Kevin Whitby.

"What's up, Harry?" Jimmy shouted as Harry kept looking around to locate the Snitch. "Why aren't you after it, too?"

"After what?" Harry shouted back.

"The Snitch! Summerby just went after it! Didn't you _see_?!"

Summeryby was looking around again, apparently having lost sight of the Snitch. "No!" Harry yelled back. "I haven't seen it yet!"

"Yet, hell!" Jimmy said, but he'd stopped yelling. He pointed back toward their own goal. "Look, Harry! Now it's behind Ron, near the Gryffindor goals!"

Harry looked, but saw nothing but Ron making a close save from a throw by Smith. "I don't see it, Jimmy!"

"Right above the middle goal now!" Jimmy said excitedly, desperate for Harry to go after it. "Go, Harry, go!"

"Dammit," Harry cursed. He saw nothing. How could Jimmy see it and not him?

"Jimmy," Harry shouted at him. "You and Ritchie concentrate on the Hufflepuff Seeker. Keep him dodging the Bludgers! And keep them off our Chasers, too! I'll come up with something!"

When Ron made the next save a few moments later, Harry caught Ginny's eye and motioned her to fly near him. Natalie and Demelza, waiting for Ginny to rejoin them, adopted a "keepaway" tactic.

"Ginny, I can't see the Snitch!" Harry told her hurriedly.

"Why, what's wrong?" Ginny asked anxiously.

"I don't know! Somebody might've hexed me! We have to get far enough ahead that letting Hufflepuff have the Snitch still gives us the win. You, Demelza and Natalie start scoring goals as fast as you can – Jimmy and Ritchie will put pressure on their Seeker, to keep him from catching the Snitch too soon. When we get 160 points ahead, I'll try and goad him into grabbing the Snitch."

"Can do!" Ginny shouted, and soared after the other two Gryffindor Chasers.

"Gryffindor is really piling on the points!" Neville said a few minutes later. "Gryffindor's last goal gives them a 210 to 60 lead. Now you know why Hufflepuff didn't want to face these specially-made brooms – they've given Gryffindor a huge advantage."

Harry, flying around as if he were still looking for the Snitch, winced at that. A lot of their advantage was coming from pure formation and Quaffle-passing skills from Ginny, Demelza and Natalie – it wasn't fair to suggest that their brooms were making _that_ much difference. The edge they had was mostly attitude and morale.

Now that there was 150 points between their scores, Harry began shadowing Summerb, hoping he wouldn't notice Harry was tracking him rather than the Snitch. He had to bait the Hufflepuff Seeker, making him angry enough to forget how far behind they were. Just one more Gryffindor goal –

"Another score by Ginny Weasley!" Neville shouted. "What a flyer that girl is!"

"Yes," Luna agreed. "She's very nice. I wonder who she's dating now that she and Harry Potter have broken up?"

Harry did a double-take at that, but he couldn't let Luna's weird comments distract him now. Flying up beside Summerby, he taunted, "Just think what it's going to be like when you play a team with some real brooms and not these homemade ones!"

"Shut it, Potter! McGonagall's just covering for you!"

"Yeah, pull the other one, Summerby!" Harry laughed. "While you're doing that you can eat my dust while I catch the Snitch!"

"Not likely!" Summerby laughed wildly and veered off. Harry turned hard to keep with him and saw that the Hufflepuff Seeker, now enraged at Harry's jibes, had the Snitch in his sights.

"No! Wait!" a couple of the other Hufflepuffs screamed, but it was too late. Summerby's hand closed on the Snitch and he raised it high in triumph.

"And there's the game!" Neville shouted. "Summerby grabs the Snitch and scores 150 points for his team. But it's not enough and Gryffindor wins 220 to 210!"

The Gryffindor spectators were cheering as Harry and the others landed at the edge of the pitch near the middle of the court. They lined up, as Hooch instructed them, to shake hands with the opposing team as a show of good sportsmanship.

The Hufflepuffs took the loss remarkably well, for the most part. Most of them at least smiled a bit as they shook Harry's hand; only Smith, who offered barely a touch of his hand before walking away without saying a word, and Summerby, who merely glared at him as he gripped his hand as tightly as he could, showed any overt resentment.

Thirty minutes later they were all back in robes and celebrating their victory in the Gryffindor common room, complete with a few dozen bottles of butterbeer that Jon Crown had thoughtfully brought from Hogsmeade through the secret passageway.

Ginny, Demelza and Natalie were all talking excitedly as Ginny told them how Harry had tricked the Hufflepuff Seeker into grabbing the Snitch, even though his team was behind. "What a maneuver!" Demelza said, draining the bottle of butterbeer she was holding. "We should call it the 'Potter Maneuver'!"

The name stuck, and the story was passed about in the common room, growing more and more grandiose with each telling, until it was as if Harry had planned it all along, as revenge for the game Gryffindor had lost the previous year to Hufflepuff. Everyone, even the people who must've remembered that game, ignored Harry's protestations that the problem then had been that he'd been knocked unconscious by a member of his own team; it had nothing to do with Hufflepuff winning. It all fell on deaf ears.

It wasn't until a few hours later, after the celebration had wound down and the evening meal was over, that Harry, sitting with Hermione and Ron in a quiet corner of the common room, told them what had happened on the Quidditch pitch.

"Brilliant move, Harry," Ron said after hearing the tale. "Do you think somebody jinxed you?"

"I don't know what else it would be," Harry said with a shrug. "I'm not even sure if it's worn off yet."

"We should test that," Hermione said, tapping her lips with a pensive fingertip. "But where could we find a Snitch to try it on?"

"The Quidditch pitch?" Ron piped up with a smile.

"I was thinking of someplace closer," Hermione said archly, giving Ron a look that made him chuckle.

"The Library, then," Ron said, still grinning. "We can look in _Quidditch Through the Ages_."

"Let's not," Harry objected. "I'm not in the mood to deal with any of Pince's looks."

"Where, then?"

"The Trophy Room," Harry said, as if it were obvious, and with an approving nod Hermione and Ron came to their feet, and they and Harry set off for the third floor.

It had been some time since any of them had been inside the trophy room; as its name implied, it was filled with case after case of awards, trophies, statues, cups, plates, shields, and medals along the walls and several rows of cases. It was handy if you wanted to know, for example, who'd been Head Boy in the 1347-48 school year or who'd been given a Special Citation for Magical Merit for being the first student in Hogwarts history to earn twelve O.W.L.s ("Thaddeus Thurkell," Hermione had once told Harry, who for some reason never forgot that fact, especially since Hermione added, "It was made all the worse because he's mostly remembered because all seven of his sons turned out to be Squibs and he turned them all into hedgehogs in disgust!").

They walked into the room hoping that Peeves wouldn't be lurking about; he loved sailing about this room and the armor gallery next door, making the suits of armor creak and squeak and rattling the crystal display cases. Fortunately, he was nowhere about at the moment. They made their way to the Quidditch section, where a few award plaques were adorned with a Snitch as decoration.

"Here's one," Ron pointed out an old plaque with the list of the Quidditch House Cup winners for the 1969-70 school year. "Ack," he said, wrinkling his nose. "Looks like Slytherin won that year." Harry looked and saw several names he recognized, including Lucius Malfoy, Seeker, and Crabbe and Goyle, Beaters; apparently the Malfoy-Crabbe-Goyle trio was a family tradition. At the top of the plaque, however, Ron pointed to a blank spot where a Snitch should be. "D'you see it, Harry?"

"Nope," Harry shook his head. "The spell's still working."

"Good," Hermione said.

"What d'you mean, 'good?' " Ron demanded. "He can't play Quidditch again until we get that spell off of him!"

"I know that, Ron." Harry smiled to himself; Hermione's tone reminded him of how Mrs. Weasley sounded when indulging her husband's sometime-obsessive fascination with all things to do with Muggles. "But it gives us an opportunity to try out the spell Harry got from Fred and George."

"How do you figure that?" Harry asked, "if the spell is still on me?"

"I can perform Scarpin's Revelaspell to see how you're enchanted," Hermione said, taking out her wand. "Then, after we remove whatever it is, I'll use _Prior Revelio_ to see if I can detect that spell again, as a test of the second spell." She pointed her wand at Harry and said, "_Specialis Revelio_!"

Nothing happened.

Hermione repeated the spell several more times before finally stopping, more from frustration than confusion. "This doesn't make any sense!" She said, more to herself than either of them. "Harry, are you _sure_ you can't see the Snitch on that plaque?

"Yes, Hermione, I'm pretty sure of what I can and can't see," Harry replied impatiently. He took off his glasses and cleaned them with part of his robe. "I'll even make sure I can – huh?" Harry peered closer at the plaque, squinting. "Hey," he said, now pointing back at the plaque. "It's there now!"

They all looked at his glasses in his hands. Harry brought them up to his face, looking through them at the plaque. "It's gone now," he said in amazement. "It's my glasses!"

"No wonder Revelaspell didn't work," Hermione said, now understanding. "I cast it on _you_, not on your glasses. A brilliant move by whoever sabotaged them."

"But how could someone have jinxed Harry's glasses without his knowing it?" Ron objected. "He never takes them off except to go to sleep."

"Or when I take a bath or shower," Harry added. "Well, at least we know what we have to un-jinx now."

On the way back to the common room, thinking about the names he'd seen on the plaque, Harry asked, "What d'you think we can do to figure out where the Helm of Gryffindor is?"

"No idea, really," Hermione said glumly. "Mr. Weasley has probably had the Crabbe house searched several times in the last few years –"

"Many times," Ron put in.

"– and nothing like that was ever found, or we would've heard of it."

"I s'pose," Harry conceded. They went over ideas for the rest of the evening, but it was no use – without any idea where the Helm might be, they were simply stuck.

Hermione was finally able to remove the spell from Harry's glasses, enabling him to once again see Snitches, then gathered up her collection of library books and retired to her dormitory. Harry and Ron stayed up, however; Harry brooded in front of the common room fireplace, trying to decide what to do next while Ron played idly with the Mystery Vault model he'd bought from Fred and George.

At this time of night, on a Saturday evening, the common room wasn't very busy; a few other students, fifth- and sixth-years, were studying or simply lounging around, bored. Jon had passed through, waving to them as he went on to his dormitory.

Ron, finally tiring of moving the tiles about on the Vault model, tossed it into the small kit bag he'd been carrying around that day and began to close it up when, perhaps in an attempt to raise Harry's spirits, laughed and pulled something else out of the bag.

"Hey, I didn't show you this," he said "Fred and George gave it to me when we were there last; they thought I should wear it the next time I'm at home when Dad's not around."

Ron pulled a pair of glasses out of the bag. Putting them on, his features suddenly transformed to those of his father. Harry did a double-take, then began to grin in spite of himself as Mr. Weasley's face looked at him and said, in a passable imitation of his voice, "Well, hello, Harry! You know, I collect plugs. And batteries. Got a very large collection of batteries. My mum – er wife, thinks I'm mad, but there you are."

They both broke into laughter. Ron took off the glasses, reverting back to his own appearance, and looked at them. "I was just thinking of the spot of bother we had over your glasses, Harry, and I remembered these. Fred and George did this to test out the idea of 'Famous Wizards' caps and cloaks. Fred's really good at sounding like Dad. I nearly wet myself when he put them on and went on like Dad does about 'eckeltricity' and 'pumbles' and the like."

"You do seem to have a thing about wetting yourself," Harry said, straight-faced.

"Oh," Ron groaned ruefully. "I could _kill_ Ginny for telling Luna that! And don't _you_ start taking the mickey out of me with it," he admonished Harry.

But Harry was frozen, looking in the air as if seeing a vision. Ron looked at him, then tried following his gaze. "Harry?" he finally asked. "What is it?"

Harry came back to earth with a start. "Ron!" he said excitedly, yet keeping his voice low to avoid attracting attention. "I know what we can do to find out something about the Helm of Gryffindor!"

"What?" Ron leaned in, interested.

"We know who last had the Helm, right?" Harry asked this as if setting up an argument in the Wizengamot.

"Right, Crabbe's father," Ron agreed.

"And we know where he's at right now, correct?"

"Yes," Ron nodded. "Azkaban."

"We know Ministry officials can get into Azkaban to question prisoners there, right?" Harry continued.

"Yeah," Ron said, seeing where Harry was going. He looked mildly panicked. "Harry, it's illegal to impersonate a Ministry official, you know."

"You did very well," Harry said encouragingly. "I almost wouldn't've guessed it was you unless I'd already known."

"But I can't just walk into Azkaban and ask to speak to Crabbe's father! I don't even know what I'd say to him!"

"I'll be right there with you," Harry said quickly. "Under the Invisibility Cloak."

Ron looked unconvinced by this. "Ron, it's our only chance!" Harry persisted. "I'd been thinking of going to talk to him myself but he'd never talk to Harry Potter. And I have no reason to ask him about the Helm. You do – or rather, your father would."

Ron looked at him. While he still had a worried expression on his face, there was something of a smile tugging at his lips. "Harry, you know we're best mates, and I'll do everything I can to help," Ron sighed. "I just hope I can pull it off," he added wryly.

"You will, mate!" Harry said excitedly. "Now, we just need some transportation to Azkaban…"

That was easily enough arranged the next morning, as Harry and Ron waited for Jon to come down for breakfast the next morning in the common room. They filled him in on their need, and he agreed.

"I'm game," he said. "Who do you need to talk to in Azkaban?"

"We can't tell you," Harry said. "But it's important."

"It must be very important if you need to talk to someone in Azkaban about it," Jon pointed out.

Harry didn't volunteer anything more, and Jon shrugged. "Fine by me if you don't want to say. I just need to get something from my trunk before we go," he told them.

After breakfast, Jon ran back to his dormitory while Harry and Ron signed out in the Entrance Hall, and walked up to the school gates, where Jon met them a few minutes later. They then continued on into Hogsmeade and to the Shrieking Shack, making their way around to the back of the building where the entrance to Jon's workroom was located.

Jon opened the entrance to his storeroom in the Shrieking Shack; they climbed into his Corvette and were soon in the skies above Hogsmeade. This time, however, Jon set their course northward, where Azkaban was located, on a small island in the North Sea. There were clouds hanging low in the skies over northeast Scotland and the North Sea, and Jon kept steering around to avoid flying blindly into them.

Meanwhile, Harry and Ron discussed strategy. Hermione had conjured a copy of the Crabbe family photograph from the old Wizarding genealogy book for Harry to study; fortunately he'd remembered to bring it with them, hoping to jog Crabbe's memory. "We don't want to waste any time," Harry pointed out. "And we don't want him to think we're there just to see him. This interrogation should like an afterthought."

Azkaban fortress finally came into view. It wasn't a large island; in fact, this worked in its favor since there were numerous anti-Muggle enchantments on it, to prevent anyone from seeing the island and to make them uncomfortable being there if they did manage to find it.

As they approached Jon pushed a button on the dashboard of the Corvette. On the display, most of the island took on a reddish hue. "Thought so," Jon said grimly. "Most of the island has an anti-flying charm on it. But I see a spot where we can set down so you can walk up to it." He put the Corvette down on a beach behind an outcropping of rocks. "Good luck," he said as Harry and Ron got out.

"Thanks," Harry said. He took out his Invisibility Cloak, while Ron put on the glasses and his appearance changed to that of Mr. Weasley.

Imitating his father's voice, Ron said bracingly, "Well, no time like the present, right Harry? Off we go, then."

Chuckling under his Cloak, Harry followed Ron along the beach to an opening in the rocks where a path had been carved leading up to the prison itself. Near the beach was a small outbuilding. Peeking inside Ron and Harry found only a fireplace, looking long unused and a few unsteady-looking chairs. The path going up to Azkaban was a narrow and crooked one; Ron had told Harry his father had once mentioned that it had been done deliberately, to keep large groups from storming the fortress en masse.

The dementors had abandoned the prison, and the Ministry, something Harry was exceedingly grateful for. He was a few years older now than he had been when he first encountered dementors, and much better equipped now to handle them. However, if they had still been at Azkaban they would have sensed his presence, even under the Cloak, and Harry was glad he did not have to try to resist them.

The front door of Azkaban was a massive oaken one with iron bindings. Ron stepped up, a bit nervously, and rapped the knocker three times against the wood. A few moments later, they heard iron bolts being pushed back and the door slowly opened. As Ron started to enter, however, two wands were thrust at him and he jumped back. Harry stepped back as well, narrowly avoiding Ron stepping into him.

The wands belonged to two wizards, both of whom looked relieved to see the image of Arthur Weasley facing them beyond the doorway. "Ah, Arthur, it's just you," one of them said. He appeared to be about Arthur's age or a bit older, with an iron-colored mullet. "What are you doing out our way on a Sunday morning?"

"Hello," Ron said, nervously. Now that he was trying to imitate his father, Harry thought worriedly, he wasn't doing a very good job of it. "Well, you know how it goes – work is never done."

They stepped back into the entrance hall and Ron followed them in, pausing long enough in the doorway to let Harry slip in behind him. Harry moved off to one side, keeping Ron between him and the two wizards. The second wizard, a stout, bald man whose age Harry couldn't begin to guess, said nothing but regarded Ron appraisingly.

"I know what you mean," the first wizard commiserated with Ron. "I'll be glad to get back to London when my shift here's up, dealing with this lot is no holiday, let me tell you!" The wizard indicated a table across the room where Harry saw a tea set and some cups. "Fancy a cuppa?"

"That would be lovely," Ron said, walking over with them to the table. Under the cloak, Harry suppressed a sigh and followed, keeping a safe distance.

The second wizard broke his silence. "So what _does_ bring you here, Weasley?" he asked as Ron sipped at his cup.

"I have a few questions for Crabbe," Ron said, trying to keep his tone casual.

"Crabbe, eh?" the first wizard said, surprised. "I didn't think that great lump would have anything you'd be interested in. Thought Malfoy was who you were gunning for."

"I'm following up a lead on a magical artifact that may have been in the Crabbe family's possession at one time," Ron said, which was close enough to the actual truth, Harry thought.

The second wizard looked suspicious, however. "I thought you were with the Counterfeit Detection Office now, Arthur, promoted to Head and everything. What are you doing looking for magical artifacts?"

"Well, it has to do with a Gryffindor relic that may have fallen in the hands of Death Eaters," Ron said, trying to sound as if he were letting them in on a confidence. "Have you ever heard of the Helm of Gryffindor?"

Harry groaned inwardly; he hadn't wanted Ron to mention the Helm of Gryffindor – it would have been better to keep such details from becoming generally known.

But both wizards looked at each other and laughed heartily. "Are you still on about that legend, Arthur?" the first wizard said after he'd regained his composure. Both Harry and Ron were thunderstruck. What did Ron's father know about the Helm of Gryffindor?

"Well, ah –" Ron said, faltering. "There's been some additional discovery – ouch!" He winced as Harry kicked him in the ankle.

"What happened?" the first wizard asked.

"Nothing," Ron said quickly. "Just a twinge in my leg, sorry. Well, I'll just ask Crabbe my questions and be on my way, if that's convenient."

"Have it your way," the second wizard said. His tone turned businesslike. "Step over here, please," he said, indicating a desk in the corner near a door leading further into Azkaban.

"Your wand, please," the wizard said, and Ron, with a glance behind him toward Harry, as if to say "We didn't think about this," handed it over. The wizard took his wand, placed it into a small drawer in the desk and handed Ron a small chit. "Remember to hang onto that, Weasley; if you lose another one of those I'm keeping your wand this time, department Head or no."

"Now for the verification question," the first wizard said, consulting a clipboard with Arthur's information on it. "What is your dearest ambition?"

"Er –" Ron said, looking lost. Harry couldn't believe Ron didn't know this about his father. Maybe he was just nervous. Harry moved close to Ron and whispered, "To find out how airplanes stay up."

"Oh!" Ron said, repeating the phrase aloud.

The first wizard looked bemused but said, "Correct. Well, let's get you round to seeing Crabbe, then."

He produced a large key chain from his robe and unlocked the door next to the desk with it. Stepping through, he held the door open for Ron. "Ready, Arthur?" he said as Ron hesitated.

"Yes, thank you," Ron said, moving through the door and giving Harry time to pass through behind him. The wizard relocked the door and they proceeded down the dimly-lit corridor.

"By the way, are you feeling alright, Arthur?" the wizard asked solicitously. "Your voice sounds funny today."

"Oh, I may have gotten a spot of cold," Ron said, sniffing a few times to cover himself. "I didn't have time for a Pepper-Up potion this morning."

They came to a staircase and walked up two flights to the second floor. Many of the cells they passed were empty, but, walking down the corridor behind the jailer and Ron, Harry saw several faces looking at them through openings in the doors on either side of the corridor. A few of them he recognized from the attack on the Department of Mysteries over a year ago: Macnair, who would have killed Buckbeak if he and Hermione hadn't stopped him, and Jugson, who was staring balefully at Ron as he passed by.

They stopped at last in front of a cell door. "Here we are," said the wizard. "William Crabbe, guilty of attempted murder, multiple batteries including Ministry Aurors, and a known Death Eater." He unbolted a smaller door inside the cell door and opened it so Crabbe could be seen more clearly. There were still bars across the opening to prevent anyone from reaching through, either way.

The man inside the cell looked up from where he was sitting on the rude bed, covered in a tattered blanket, in the corner of the cell. There was very little else in the room: a broken-down bedside cabinet, a old, darkly-stained sink and an equally dirty-looking toilet. The man looked like a grown-up version of Vincent Crabbe – not unexpected since he was in fact Crabbe's father – and grinned nastily at Ron and the wizard.

"Come to see me now, have you?" he sneered. "What's a blood traitor like you want with the likes of me, then?"

"I'll let you two have some privacy," the wizard said to Ron, _sotto_ _voce_. "Try not to be too long, Arthur. You can find your way back to the entrance hall, I trust." His tone had become cool; he was apparently miffed that Ron wasn't being as cordial as expected, probably because Ron didn't know him, whereas the real Mr. Weasley did. He walked away back down the corridor.

Harry sidled up beside Ron to look inside the room at Crabbe. The Death Eater was still staring at the door, waiting for Ron to speak. "Be casual, as if this is just an afterthought," he whispered in Ron's ear. Ron nodded imperceptibly.

"I don't mean to take time out from your busy schedule," Ron said, his voice now sounding enough like Mr. Weasley's that Harry smiled in spite of himself. "But I was here on a spot of business and I came across something I thought you could help me with."

"Did you, now?" Crabbe said indifferently. "And why would I want to help you, you slimy git?"

"For one thing," Ron said, "You might want to shave some time off your sentence here for providing information in a Ministry investigation."

"Cooperate with the Ministry?" Crabbe chuckled, a guttural rumbling that sounded more like a heavy cough than laughter. "Yeah, I'm sure the Dark Lord would love to hear about me doin' that. Why don't you take off, eh, and leave me alone?"

"Show him the picture," Harry whispered, and Ron reached inside his robe and produced the copy of the page from the Wizarding genealogy book.

"Do you recognize this picture?" Ron said, holding up before the bars.

"Didn't I just tell you to –" Crabbe stopped, staring at the picture. Slowly, he roused himself to his feet and shuffled over toward the door, now looking carefully at the image.

"Where the hell did you get that?" he demanded.

"I don't think that's pertinent," Ron said, folding the image up and replacing it in his robe. "The question is, what can you tell me about the object you're holding."

Crabbe stared at Ron through the bars for some time. Under the Cloak, Harry watched as several emotions seemed to play across his face: anger, indecision, and perhaps, fear. He finally turned without speaking and moved slowly back to the bed. Sitting on it, Crabbe stared at the floor for several moments before saying, finally, "Nothing much to tell now, anyway."

"What do you mean, exactly?" Ron pressed him.

"'S been a long time since I seen that helmet," Crabbe said slowly. "I'd forgotten all about it. It was what got me this –" he pointed to his left forearm, where his Dark Mark would be "– as well as a fair amount of gold."

"You sold it?" Ron asked, trying to be certain what he meant. Harry watched Crabbe closely for any signs of dishonesty, but Crabbe appeared to have been unnerved by the sight of the old photograph.

"Not exactly. The Malfoys found out my family had owned it for a long time. My father kept it in a special room we were never allowed inside. On my eleventh birthday he said I could have anything I wanted that day. I told him I wanted to wear that helmet." Crabbe laughed suddenly, mirthlessly. "He almost refused, even then. But he let me have it for a while. When my mum took that picture, I don't think he realized I was holding it, or he probably would've broken the camera."

"What did he do when he saw the picture afterwards?" Ron wanted to know.

"Never did," Crabbe said, looking at the floor again. "There was a raid on our house a few days later, he refused to let Aurors in our house. Killed a few of them before they got him." He fell silent for some time.

"They never did find that trophy room, though," Crabbe suddenly resumed. "Too well hidden, at least for the Ministry. The Malfoys, now, _that_ was another story," he added, suddenly sounding bitter.

"What happened with the Malfoys?" Ron urged.

"I never told anyone this before," Crabbe said. "Just so you know. Lucius's father came to my house and talked to my mum. He suggested that the helmet was cursed and that was why my father snuffed it. He offered a tidy sum of gold to take it off her hands, and she, thinking we needed the money, agreed. I could've killed her when I found out!"

"So…the Malfoys have the Helmet?" Ron finished.

"Last I knew," Crabbe said, dully. "But it's been over 30 years now." He looked away and said no more.

Harry nudged Ron and whispered, "Let's go."

"Thank you for the information, Mr. Crabbe," Ron said to end the interview. He walked away, back up the corridor toward the staircase.

"I should have guessed," Harry whispered bitterly as they walked down the first staircase to the first floor. "The Malfoys again."

"Dad never found anything like that in the Malfoy's house," Ron whispered. "That would have been the find of the century."

"Of the millennium," Harry amended. "A third Gryffindor artifact would –"

"Shhh," Ron said suddenly, putting up a hand. Harry stopped; he heard someone speaking somewhere on the first floor, which they had almost reached. "Hear that?" he said very softly.

"Yes," Harry whispered. He recognized the voice, too – he wasn't likely to miss Draco Malfoy's drawling, cold voice. "Stay here," he told Ron, and set off to find the Slytherin.

"Harry!" Ron whispered furiously, but Harry paid him no heed. If he was correct, Draco would be here visiting his father, and Harry could not afford to pass up the opportunity to observe them unseen.

It wasn't too difficult to find Malfoy – there weren't that many corridors on the first floor of Azkaban prison. Malfoy was at the door of a prison cell, his face pressed against the bars of the opening, shouting at his father.

"I don't care what you promised Uncle Julius!" Draco yelled. "I don't even care what you promised the Dark Lord! I'm your son! _Your son_!"

"If that's true, you should begin acting like it," Harry heard Lucius Malfoy reply from inside his cell. "Have you begun searching for the Dark Lord yet, so he can be restored to his bodily form? Have you made preparations to do so? Have you or Snape done anything about taking revenge on Potter yet, both for me as well as the Dark Lord?"

Harry scowled; Malfoy evidently wanted revenge for his imprisonment here in Azkaban, never mind that he, in trying to steal the Prophecy from the Ministry and kill Harry and his fellow students back in June of last year, had more than earned his incarceration here.

"I don't have time for that!" Malfoy objected. "I barely have time to come here on Sundays! You know Mother wants me to remain in school!"

"Ah, yes," his father said, his voice dripping sarcasm. "And of course you always do what your mother and I tell you to, Draco."

"Then tell me what she's doing, and I'll do whatever you want!" Draco pleaded. Harry's ears pricked up at this – was this something to do with what Draco had said to his uncle several weeks ago, at the last Vault Tournament round they had attended?

"Even if she _were_ doing anything, it's not your place to demand to know it," the elder Malfoy snapped. "Your mother has to have a life of her own, now that I'm no longer there to take care of her and you."

"_Why can't you trust me_?" Draco screamed at him.

"Keep your voice down, Draco!" Malfoy said harshly.

"NO! I'VE DONE WHAT THE DARK LORD ASKED OF ME – !"

"You mean _Snape_ did what the Dark Lord asked of you."

"He-he butted in at the last moment!" Draco said wildly. Looking at him, Harry saw that he was completely unhinged now by his father's hostility toward him. "I was about to do it! I was about to kill Dumbledore!"

"Draco, Draco," his father said, disappointment laden in his voice. "There's no use trying to lie to me, or to delude yourself. The others present have made a full report; even if they hadn't, I've seen the transcript from your trial. I know what happened."

"But I tried, Father, I tried!" Draco sobbed into the bars. Harry watched, aghast, as Malfoy broke down, falling against the door. "I tried to appease the Dark Lord, to show you what I was capable of! And I almost succeeded!"

There was silence from within the cell from some time; Malfoy slid down the door until he was on his knees, pressing his body against it. Then Malfoy spoke.

" 'Almost succeeded' is the same as failure where the Dark Lord is concerned, Draco."

Malfoy twisted around so he was sitting against the door. He covered his face with his hands.

"Go back to Hogwarts, Draco," Malfoy said. "Forget about me. The only thing I can hope to expect from the Dark Lord now is a quick, relatively painless death. I probably will not even be allowed that. The Dark Lord does not forget, nor forgive.

"Make your peace with Snape as well. From all I've heard from the outside, he now holds the most favor with our master, while I hold none at all. Now, go."

Harry trembled with anger to hear this. It was just as he had always known – Snape was still and always in league with Voldemort!

So distracted was Harry by his own fury that he barely realized it when Malfoy got to his feet and walked away from his father's cell without another word. Suddenly Malfoy was almost upon him, and Harry twisted frantically to get out of his way.

Malfoy took another step or two then stopped and turned back, looking around. Harry wasn't sure if part of his Invisibility Cloak had touched him or not. After a moment, however, Malfoy turned and strode away.

Harry hurried after him as well, suddenly realizing that Ron would probably have stayed right where Harry had left him. What would happen if he and Draco suddenly came upon each other in the corridors of Azkaban prison?

Harry was twenty or so feet behind Malfoy as Malfoy approached the staircase. He had almost reached the steps going down to the ground floor when he suddenly stepped back, startled, and demanded, "What the hell are _you_ doing here, Weasley?"

Ron, still wearing the image of his father, had appeared on the steps leading to the second floor. "Here, now," he said, once again sounding passably like Mr. Weasley, "Is that any way to talk to your elders, Mr. Malfoy?"

"It's more than a blood traitor like you deserves," Malfoy said contemptuously.

To Harry's surprise, Ron didn't shrug off this insolent reply with a flippant remark, as his father probably would have done. He strode right up to Malfoy, putting them within inches of each other, and said sternly, "That will be _quite_ enough from you, boy! If you think your family's wealth is going to give you any kind of free ride, you'd better think again!"

The expression of shock and surprise on Malfoy's face was priceless, but Harry doubted his own expression was any less so. Who would've imagined that Ron could sound so authoritative? "Now if you don't want your parents' house searched from top to bottom once again for hidden Dark objects, you'll march your prat down these stairs, out the front doors and get yourself back to school now, and I mean _right now_!"

Malfoy, looking unnerved, said nothing but bolted down the staircase and back to the entrance hall, where they heard him pounding on the door until it swung open.

With a self-satisfied smirk that looked quite unlike the real Mr. Weasley, Ron started down the staircase. Harry fell into step beside him, under his Cloak, and whispered, "Brilliant, Ron! I never saw Malfoy run that fast before!"

"Yeah," Ron chuckled. "That blood traitor remark of his got my hair up, and I suddenly realized he was as out of place here as I would be." At least, he added, "if I was me instead of my father."

"You really cut loose on him," Harry observed dryly.

"Well…I sort of let the 'Mum' side of me come out there," Ron said slyly.

Arriving at the door to the entrance hall, Ron knocked and was allowed in by the two now somewhat awed wizards, who evidently knew something had happened. Neither of them said anything, however; they merely accepted the marker Ron held for his wand and returned it to him.

"Well, good afternoon to you both," Ron said pleasantly. "I hope it's not too long 'til we meet again."

"Did you get the information you needed, Arthur?" the first wizard spoke up, encouraged by Ron's demeanor.

"Oh, quite," Ron said airily. "More than I expected, actually." And with a bow to the two of them he swept out the front door, followed invisibly by a bemused Harry.

As they reached the end of the crooked path leading to the shore, Ron pointed up in air. "Look!" he said. "There goes Malfoy!"

Malfoy was barely visible, flying upward into sky; he hadn't even put on his own Invisibility Cloak, assuming he'd worn it for the trip there.

They made their way back to the rocks where Jon's Corvette had been parked. As they approached, the interior of the car appeared as Jon openend the passenger door. Ron and Harry clambered in, Harry removing his cloak as he did so.

"Was the mission a success?" Jon asked.

"Good enough," Harry said. He didn't want to say more than that. If Jon learned they were trying to locate an artifact of Godric Gryffindor's, he might wonder why they didn't want anyone to know about it. Harry didn't want to give him any opportunity to start piecing together the pieces of a puzzle that might lead him to what they were really searching for.

"Look over there!" Ron said suddenly, pointing ahead of them just to the right in the windscreen. It was Malfoy, riding his Firestar toward the school. He still wasn't wearing his Invisibility Cloak. The Corvette, which Jon had kept invisible the entire time it had been out of the Shrieking Shack this time, would pass fairly close to him. Jon altered the Corvette's course so they were moving away from Malfoy.

At nearly double his speed, they quickly overtook the Slytherin and passed him. "He'll probably still beat us back into school," Jon remarked. "He can land right outside the gates of the school, if he stops and puts on his Invisibility Cloak, while we have to park in the Shrieking Shack and walk back from Hogsmeade."

"By the way, Ron," Harry said, finally looking at him for the first time since they'd gotten into the Corvette. "Can you take off that mask? It's a bit strange talking to your father while sitting in a Muggle vehicle illegally modified to fly invisibly."

Unfortunately, getting back to Hogwarts from Hogsmeade turned out to be more problematic than they'd supposed. A group of seventh-year Hufflepuffs were wandering around Hogsmeade, apparently engaged in some kind of game. Jon managed to land the Corvette inside the Shrieking Shack and close the entrance just before the group of students wandered into the back yard of the Shack and set up an impromptu picnic. It looked like they meant to stay there for a while.

"We can go back through the passage to the Whomping Willow," Harry suggested. They made their way to the room where the entrance to the passage was and dropped down into it. Lighting their wands, they began the walk toward the Willow.

As they walked toward the Willow, Harry thought about what he and Ron had learned about the Helm of Gryffindor. It didn't really help much, Harry thought, annoyed that they'd exchanged one problem for a more difficult one. The Helm could have been passed to Voldemort years ago, decades even. It was almost certainly a Horcrux by now, if Voldemort had it. Harry wished they could have talked to Lucius Malfoy as well, or if they could have overheard Draco asking him about it… Harry stopped suddenly, realizing what he'd just thought.

Ron pulled up short, almost walking into Harry. "What is it, Harry?"

"I think," Harry said slowly, looking around at Ron, "Draco needs to make one more trip to see his father.

Ron looked at him blankly for a moment. Then he saw what Harry was driving at, and his face registered equal measures of awe and horror. "Brilliant, Harry!" But he added, "Or mental, I'm not sure which is more correct. How d'you plan to pull that off? We don't have many Draco Malfoy Famous Wizards' masks lying about, you know."

"Polyjuice Potion," Harry said easily. "I can get Fred and George to brew some up for me, or do it myself, if necessary."

They had reached the slope that led up to the roots of the Whomping Willow, and Harry began climbing up. Reaching the roots, he raised his head up cautiously, looking around, then pushed the knot on the tree that caused the Willow to freeze. Jumping out, Harry helped Ron and Jon up as well. Brushing off dirt clinging to their robes, the three set off toward the school's entrance on the opposite end of the school.

As they reached the northeast corner of the castle, however, they met with unexpected resistance – Crabbe, Goyle, and a few other large Slytherins from sixth and seventh-year were walking toward them. They had been loitering just at the corner of the castle, out of sight as Harry, Ron and Jon approached. It looked like the Slytherins were expecting them, making Harry wonder just how "secret" the passageway between the Whomping Willow and the Shrieking Shack was anymore.

Crabbe was grinning evilly as the other Slytherins surrounded the three Gryffindors. They were outnumbered two-to-one, Harry saw. Next to Crabbe, Goyle was cracking his knuckles and chuckling trollishly. "Having a nice afternoon walk, Potter?" Crabbe asked with mock solicitousness.

"What's it to you?" Harry replied rudely. "How did you know we'd be here, anyway?"

"Oh, a little snake told us," Goyle said with a grunting laugh.

"More like a _Snape_," Harry shot back.

Crabbe seemed nonplussed for a second, but he just shrugged and said, "This part of the grounds is ours today; if you want to cross it you'll have to pay a toll. One Galleon apiece."

"What if we just go back and go around?" Jon asked, sounding unnaturally calm for someone surrounded by six large, hostile boys.

"Can't," Goyle said. "You already crossed. Now you got to pay."

"What if we don't have any money," Ron said evenly. He too, Harry was pleased to see, seemed to be more calm than usual for a situation like this.

"Then you've got a problem," sneered one of the other Slytherins Harry recognized as Harper, from Slytherin's Quidditch team.

"Speaking of problem," Jon said, looking at Goyle, "did you tell your buddies here that I kicked Draco Malfoy's butt in a fair fight and broke your nose in the bargain?"

"That was different," Goyle replied hotly. "We outnumber you two to one this time!"

"Glad you noticed that," Harry said sarcastically. "We didn't want you thinking this was going to be a fair fight or anything."

"Ahhh, hell!" Crabbe said angrily to the others. "Let's just hex 'em!" He and the other Slytherins went for their wands.

At the same time, however, Jon, standing between Harry and Ron, grabbed their arms closest to him and shouted, "_Adstringus Foris_!" There was a blur of motion and Harry felt something heavy slam into him, knocking him breathless. Dazed, he felt a rush of air and the sensation of falling.

His feet touched the ground again, but Harry tumbled forward and slid on grass. Still groggy from whatever had hit him, he rolled onto his back and looked around. Besides him, Jon was slowly rising to his feet.

"What-what happened?" Ron asked woozily. "Something hit me and suddenly we're _here_."

"Here" was the front steps of Hogwarts, almost on the other side of the castle from where they'd just been. "How'd we get here?" Harry asked, sitting up with a groan.

"Sorry I didn't have time to warn you," Jon said, looking down at Harry and Ron. "I didn't feel like a fight, and those idiots weren't going to let us get away without one, so I used a spell to draw us here."

"What _was_ that?" Ron said, getting to his feet, still a bit unsteady. "I never heard of a spell that did something like _that_."

"It's called the Drawing Charm," Jon said, extending a hand for Harry, who grabbed it and allowed Jon to pull him to his feet. "It works like the Summoning Charm, but instead of summoning the object to you it draws you toward the object.

You probably never heard of it," Jon added dryly, "because it can be dangerous. The spell will use the shortest path through open air to pull you toward the object, but other things in the way may get damaged. What we ran into, by the way, was Crabbe and Goyle, since they were in the way of the shortest path."

"It was like hitting a big, squishy wall," Ron said, grimacing.

"I expect they're the worse for wear," Jon shrugged. "The three of us slammed into them – I bet they weren't prepared for that at all." He looked ruefully at Harry. "You weren't either, I know. Sorry."

"It's okay," Harry said. "No problem." They began walking toward the front doors. But a question occurred to Harry almost immediately. "How did you manage to do that without a wand, Jon?"

"Oh." Jon held up his left arm so his robe sleeve slid away from his arm. On his forearm was a cloth sleeve; inside the sleeve, against his arm, was Jon's wand. "I thought this up a couple of weeks ago. I can draw my wand fairly fast with this, but even if I don't have time, it's still touching my skin. That's usually enough for most spells to work, unless they involve a lot of wand motion."

They walked into the Entrance Hall, signed the log book, and walked toward the Great Hall where a number of students were just beginning their evening meals. "Good idea," Ron muttered. "I could eat a horse."

At the doors to the Hall stood a windblown Draco Malfoy, looking rather upset. He glared at the three as they passed by him, Harry the closest of the three.

As Harry drew close Draco snarled, "What are _you_ looking at, Potter?"

"Just wondering how your dad's doing in Azkaban," Harry shot back. Draco's eyes narrowed.

"That's your fault, Potter, and I'm not going to forget it," he said threateningly. "Things are going to be different one day soon, you'll see."

"Yeah, we'll see, we'll see, we'll see," Ron said mockingly. "You've been singing that same tune since school began, Malfoy, but we haven't seen you do much yet, and what you _have_ done, you've failed miserably at."

"Shut your mouth, blood traitor," Malfoy snapped. "Nobody in your family's got any right to cheek me!"

"Oh no?" Ron laughed. He was really enjoying baiting Malfoy, Harry thought. "Maybe my dad oughta come over and give your mum's house a thorough check-out, eh?"

Malfoy stopped, startled, and stared at Ron. "_What did you say_?"

"You heard me," Ron replied, and said no more.

"You don't know what I'm capable of –" Malfoy began angrily, but Harry cut him off.

"Oh we know, alright," Harry said, his own anger firing up. "You're capable of cursed necklaces and poisoned mead! You're capable of planning an attack it took a whole school year to bring off! What you're _not_ capable of, though," he said viciously, "is actually accomplishing your goals. You haven't got any _real_ Slytherin in you, do you, Malfoy? Couldn't kill your master's arch-nemesis, even when he was helpless and weaponless in front of you, could you?!

Harry stepped right up in front of Malfoy, much like Ron had done in Azkaban, and shouted in his face. "You couldn't even stay and fight after Voldemort's right-hand man did your dirty work, could you? No, you ran away like a lily-livered coward, so fast you didn't even try to defend yourself during your retreat – Voldemort's man did that for you as well, didn't he?!"

Harry stopped, red-faced and breathing hard, and glared at Malfoy. Malfoy's face was blank, expressionless, as if he was by some supreme effort controlling himself. After a few seconds Harry muttered, "You're pathetic, and you're not worth my time," then turned and began walking away.

Malfoy, watching Harry walk away, suddenly went for his wand but Jon, who had not turned away, was faster and his wand was pointed at Malfoy's face before Malfoy's could clear his robe.

"Malfoy," he said calmly. "You have a bad habit it drawing your wand on people with their backs to you, especially Harry, it seems. Put it away." Malfoy let his wand drop back into his robe pocket and Jon did the same.

"Why don't you wait for your friends Crabbe and Goyle," Jon suggested, jerking a thumb toward the Entrance Hall. "I expect they'll have an interesting story to tell you, when they wake up."

"When they wake up?" Malfoy repeated. "What did you do to them?"

"Nothing that an ability to get out of the way in a timely manner wouldn't have taken care of," Jon said casually. He waved a hand in an airy farewell and began slowly backing up.

Malfoy, still looking confused, turned and walked into the Entrance Hall just in time to see the group of Slytherins carrying in a dazed and bleeding Crabbe and Goyle, who were both moaning piteously. Cursing, Malfoy stalked away.

Hagrid, who'd been at the Great Table monitoring activity in the Hall for the past hour or so, came bustling up the aisle between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables toward them. "What in blue blazes is going on here? Mr. Crown, did you have yer wand drawn?"

"Just for a moment, sir," Jon said courteously. "Draco thought he'd like to see my 'quick-draw' technique, since, as I'm from Texas, I'm supposed to be something of a cowboy."

"A cow-boy?" Hagrid said, looking at Jon dubiously. "Well, tha' sounds udderly ridiculous t'me."

Harry and Ron looked at each other and burst out laughing. "What?" said Hagrid, annoyed that he had no idea what he'd said that was so funny.

"Sorry, Hagrid," Harry said, stopping himself by sheer willpower from laughing any more. "Listen – we're starving. Can we stop by your cabin later for some tea?"

"Tha's fine, then," Hagrid said, still sounding nettled. "See yer." He turned and tramped back up toward the Great Table, muttering under his breath about "today's kids" and "When I was yer age…"

Seeing Hermione and Ginny eating together, the three of them sat down across from them.

"Where've you lot been?" Ginny asked with an inquiring look at Harry.

"Azkaban," Ron said offhandedly. "Doing some investigative work."

Hermione snorted laughter. "What were you doing, looking for a flat for when you move out of the Burrow?"

"Ha-ha," Ron said. "For your information, I'm never moving out of the Burrow, I like it there just fine." Ginny made retching sounds.

Later, after Ginny finished dinner and went off to do some homework, Harry and Ron moved closer to Hermione to talk privately. Harry lowered his voice. "We talked with Crabbe's father about the Helm," he said softly. "He said his family sold it to the Malfoys long ago."

Hermione looked unhappy. "That means it's already a – eh, you know, doesn't it?"

"Most likely," Harry agreed grimly. "It sounded like Voldemort was very quite keen to get it."

"What do we do, then?" Hermione wanted to know. "That was the only solid lead we've come up with since we started looking."

"I have an idea," Harry said, his voice now very low, "but I don't want to say it here. Let's finish dinner and discuss it somewhere more private."

They retired to a quiet corner of the Gryffindor common room and Harry described his brainwave to Hermione. Predictably, she wasn't very keen for it, nor was she happy once she heard all the details of the day's adventure at Azkaban.

"Think of all the things that could've gone wrong!" Hermione said, trying to keep her voice low and still sound properly outraged. "What if they'd asked Mr. Weasley a different question? What if the mask had malfunctioned? What if –"

"What if we'd found out where the Helm was?" Harry said, annoyed at Hermione's doomsaying. "It was worth the risk, Hermione! It worked, didn't it?"

"What if it didn't?" Hermione said shrilly. "What were you thinking, anyway?"

"I was thinking that we knew who'd had the Helm last and we knew where he was," Harry fired back. "And we had someone question him who he'd at least have reason to answer!"

"And _I_ would think _you_ would realize even before _they_ did how stupid that was!" Hermione raged at him. "You're all seventeen, for Merlin's sake! The Ministry of Magic is _not_ going to let you off with a wrist-slapping and lines after class!"

Suddenly it occurred to Harry what Hermione was upset about. She'd just said it, in a way. "Hermione, when we go after Voldemort's Horcruxes and Voldemort himself, we're going to be in a lot more danger," Harry said, as gently as he could.

"I know…" she said, and was still for several moments. Then she flung herself from her chair and threw her arms around his neck.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" she sobbed into his shoulder. "I've been dreading this for months, you having to put yourself in harm's way for all of us!" She pulled away, hands covering her mouth, her eyes wide. "Harry, what can we _do_?"

Harry stood and looked her in the eye. "You're doing it now," he told her seriously. "You're being my friends."

"Oh, now _I'm_ going to cry," Ron said.


	22. The Secret Keeper

Chapter 22

**The Secret Keeper**

Harry discovered early on the next week of school that Malfoy may have taken his father's words to heart. By Monday morning breakfast in the Great Hall, Malfoy seemed to have regained a measure of his popularity – he was laughing and boisterous, joking with other members of his House at the Slytherin table, and Pansy Parkinson was once again at his side. "I wonder how much he had to pay her to sit there?" Ron muttered, and for once Hermione didn't scold him for rudeness.

Harry wondered what Malfoy had done, once he'd returned from Azkaban yesterday, to get back into the good graces of his classmates. There'd been nothing in the conversation he'd overheard between Malfoy and his father that would've caused such a change, Harry felt; on the other hand, he hadn't heard their entire conversation. It was becoming all the more important to return to Azkaban and have a talk with Lucius Malfoy disguised as his son. Doing that, Harry hoped, he could discover some kind of clue about the Helm of Gryffindor, or any of the other Horcruxes Voldemort must have made.

In Transfiguration class that morning, Tonks was having the class review the basics of Untransfiguration, or returning a Transfigured object to its original form, in preparation for their N.E.W.T. work in that particular subject.

"How does one tell whether an object has been Transfigured or not?" Tonks asked the class. "Miss Granger," she said, as Hermione immediately raised her hand.

"The usual method is to use Scarpin's Revelaspell," Hermione replied promptly.

"Right. On my desk here I have three objects," Tonks pointed to an eraser, a small flower vase, and a book. "Oops!" she said suddenly, as her wand, hitting the vase, knocked it to the floor where it shattered into pieces. Harry winced as several people in the room laughed. He knew Tonks was dead clumsy – she even said so herself – but he would never laugh at her for it.

The Slytherins in the class, particularly Malfoy, however, laughed longer and more derisively than the other students. For her part, Tonks simply ignored them, then pointed her wand at the pieces and said "Reparo," quietly. The vase reassembled itself and she replaced it on the desk.

"Alright, then," she said, continuing as if nothing had occurred, "I'd like someone to come forward and determine which of these objects have been transfigured. Who would like to come up and have a go?"

A few people raised their hands, with Hermione, as usual, being the first. As Harry watched Tonks scan the class , however, when her eyes met his she gave a small wink. "Mr. Malfoy?" she said. "Will you do the honors, please?"

Malfoy, sitting in the center of the group of other Slytherins in the class, looked around to see that all eyes were on him before saying, "Well, Professor Tonks, it seems pretty obvious that the vase you've just repaired is the object."

"Really?" Tonks said, sounding interested in Malfoy's reply. "And how did you reach that conclusion?"

"I've read work by Adalbert Waffling suggesting that _Reparo_ is misidentified as a Charm spell when it should actually be considered Transfiguration."

"I see," Tonks said gravely, as if Malfoy had just made a very salient point. "And how did you verify Waffling's hypothesis?"

"Well, he's the expert," Malfoy said with a shrug. "Why should I bother with that?"

"Nothing ventured, nothing gained, Mr. Malfoy," Tonks said brightly. "Come up and let's have a shifty."

Grinning at the other Slytherins, who were laughing and joking about Malfoy "showing the Professor how it's done" and "don't be jealous, Pansy, it's only schoolwork," Malfoy left his seat and strutted to the front of the class, where he stood, arms folded insolently, waiting for Tonks to tell him what to do.

After several seconds waiting for Malfoy to proceed, Tonks asked, "Have you ever used Scarpin's Revelaspell before, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Of course!" Malfoy said, sounding annoyed.

"On what?" Tonks asked.

Malfoy was silent for a moment, then said dismissively, "It's not important."

Harry snorted under his breath. He would just bet that Malfoy had used that spell when trying to fix the Vanishing Cabinet in the Room of Requirement last year, an effort that took him nearly the entire school year to complete.

"Then please proceed," Tonks said. "Cast it on the vase."

Malfoy, looking annoyed but still smirking at the other Slytherins, took out his wand and tapped the vase, saying "_Specialis Revelio_!"

Nothing happened.

Malfoy tapped the vase again, repeating the spell. There was still no response from the vase. He rounded on Tonks angrily. "You switched the vase for one that hadn't been broken, to make me look stupid!"

"You're doing that quite capably by yourself," Tonks replied dryly. "That _is_ the vase I broke just a few minutes ago. What does that tell you about Waffling's idea?"

Malfoy looked at her mutinously and made no reply. After several seconds Tonks turned to the class. "Anyone? Hermione," she nodded as Hermione's hand instantly shot into the air.

"If _Reparo_ were a Transfiguration spell, Revelaspell would have shown one on the vase," Hermione said. "But it is in fact really a Charm spell; the nature of the object isn't changed, nor its appearance. It works only to restore order or undo physical damage.

"Very good, Miss Granger," Tonks said, smiling. "Five points for Gryffindor." Hermione beamed at her.

"That's not fair!" Malfoy said, outraged. "I came up and did the spell! Why does _she_ get points?"

"Here's your chance, then, since you've been doing some reading. Name another spell that is used to detect transfigured objects."

Malfoy merely glared back at her.

"Perhaps your reading should extend to your homework assignments, Mr. Malfoy," Tonks said pointedly. "Take your seat, please."

Malfoy walked back so he passed close to Hermione; as he did he turned and muttered something to her under his breath. She stiffened suddenly but didn't otherwise react.

"Would you like to share your comment with the class, Mr. Malfoy?" Tonks said, beginning to sound annoyed now.

Malfoy turned, an unconvincing look of innocence on his face. "I didn't say anything, Professor."

"Not aloud," Tonks agreed. "But did you know that my Auror training included how to read lips? It's a skill that comes in handy at unexpected times, such as when a wizard is trying to hex you but can't pull it off nonverbally. Or here and now, with you?"

"So what did I 'say' to Granger?" Malfoy challenged her.

"Let's just say it's earned you detention this Saturday," Tonks said flatly, her patience at an end.

"Sorry, can't," Malfoy said with a sneer.

"Excuse me?" Tonks said, not believing she'd heard correctly.

"Can't this weekend. I have an appointment with Professor Snape this Saturday," Malfoy said, puffing out his chest. "And for the next several Saturdays after that. He's said I _must_ attend these appointments, so I _can't_ be in detention those days."

"Not a problem," Tonks said, now examining Malfoy through narrowed eyes, as if she was trying to somehow discern the reason for his meetings with Snape. "I'll just arrange to have your detentions on the next few Sundays." Malfoy scowled but said nothing, taking his seat.

_That could be good_, Harry thought to himself; if he could find a way to get some Polyjuice Potion in the next week or two, and a strand of Malfoy's hair, he could take on his appearance and make the trip to Azkaban to see Lucius Malfoy.

At lunch Harry and Ron discussed the sudden change in Malfoy's fortunes. Harry was of the opinion that Malfoy had done just what his father suggested: He'd made peace with Snape.

"That makes sense," Ron agreed, speaking around the last mouthful of steak and kidney pie he was eating. "But it's not like we've seen them rowing at all."

"True," Harry admitted. "But when did you ever hear of Malfoy having weekly appointments with Snape before? I'd like to know what they'll be doing during them," he added, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

"Probably nothing good," Ron said off-handedly. He'd pushed away his now-empty plate. "But when has he ever been up to anything else?" He reached into his book bag, pulled out the model of the Mystery Vault and began fiddling with the dial, arranging the tiles almost at random.

"Have you figured that thing out yet?" Harry asked, amused.

"I wish I could," Ron said earnestly. "There's something about this thing that I can't quite put my finger on. It reminds me of something; just what, I haven't a clue, though."

"What's up?" Ginny said, walking up to where they were sitting at the Gryffindor table. "I heard your mate Malfoy's the new cock of the walk with the Slytherins today."

Ron made a rude sound. "What else did you hear?" Harry asked.

Ginny sat down beside Harry. "The word is," she said quietly, "Snape called all the Slytherins into their common room last night and told them that there would be no more isolating Draco or ignoring him or blackmailing or any of that stuff."

"Too bad," Ron said, disappointed. "I thought he was doing well as a loner."

"Any reason why Snape had them ease up on him?" Harry asked.

"Nothing definite," Ginny said, glancing back toward the Slytherin table to see if anyone was watching them. "But a couple of fifth-years though they saw Malfoy walking toward Snape's office a while before his announcement. That was after he left the Great Hall, just after you and Jon came in."

"So he _did_ take his father's advice," Harry murmured.

"He probably would," Ginny said. "If he thought it would win his approval. For all that he tried to do last year, he really wants his parents to be proud of him."

"How d'you know _that_?" Harry looked at her in surprise.

"Moaning Myrtle," Ginny replied. "They talked, you know."

"I know," Harry nodded. He'd seen Malfoy and Myrtle together in the boys' bathroom near the end of the last school year. When Malfoy saw him, though, the first thing he'd done had been to draw his wand. Harry did the same, and it ended up with Malfoy badly hurt; only Snape's timely arrival (although Harry had never figured out how Snape happened to be so close by) had saved Malfoy's life.

"He told her quite a lot of things in just the few times they talked," Ginny said. "And they're both lonely, you know; Malfoy's just got more reason to hide it."

"So Myrtle talks to you?" Harry guessed.

"Sometimes… she's not always talkative, but she does have her moments. And she does like to gossip," Ginny smiled. "She told me last year about you and her when you were trying to figure out the golden egg during the Tri-Wizard Tournament. That was before we were together – I think she was trying to warm me off of you, Harry."

Harry felt his face turn crimson; he hadn't expected Myrtle to mention that to anyone, least of all Ginny.

"Well, isn't that a cozy scene?" a familiar voice behind Harry said.

"Indeed, I'm getting more and more used to seeing our sister embarrass boys every day," replied another familiar voice, twin to the first one.

Harry and Ginny both spun around, and Harry grinned in delight at seeing two figures who hadn't been seen at Hogwarts for some time now – Fred and George Weasley!

"Oy!" Harry almost shouted. "What're you two doing here?"

"Just thought we'd come and see what you'd done with the place since we've been gone," Fred said airily, looking about the Great Hall. "Could do with a coat of paint. It still looks a bit Umbridge-y to me."

"Eww, don't say that," Ginny said, wrinkling her nose. She jumped up and gave them each a hug. "Y'know, now that you're here, you could talk to McGonagall about finishing out your last year," she said cajolingly; it was evidently a subject she'd broached with the pair before.

"Nah, little sister, that ship has sailed," George said firmly. "Besides, we couldn't afford to give up the time at the shop."

"Yeah, Puking Pastilles don't bake themselves, you know," Fred said matter-of-factly.

"Besides that, I don't think we'd quite get the welcome you think we would," George said. "Old Filch saw us as we were coming into the entrance hall – his eyes liked to bug out of his head, he was so mad." George looked at Fred. "He really, really must've wanted to give us those whippings he was planning on when we left."

"No doubt," Fred agreed. "Almost seven years with us and just when he finally gets permission to break out the whips, we break out of the school. Maybe we should leave him a Daydream Charm, for old times' sake." After a moment the both of them chuckled.

"So what's up," Harry asked them. "Why are you here?"

"We had a little business in Hogsmeade," Fred replied. "Had another shifty at Zonko's – we're still getting requests to open up a local shop."

"That'll _really_ make Filch's eyes bug out," Ron observed.

"Which almost makes it worth it," George said with a grin.

"But we've still got to run the numbers before we make any final commitments," Fred cautioned.

"We're also doing our part to increase knowledge here at Hogwarts." George said, dropping the book bag that was slung across his shoulders on the table in front of them. He opened the bag and pulled out several books. "We have a few choice items to donate to the Library here."

"Well, that's very generous of you," Ginny said, looking over the books. "And uncharacteristic, I might add. So what's up?" she asked slyly.

"You wound us, dear little sister," Fred said in an aggrieved tone. "Truly, you do."

"Just as we recognize the need to give back to the institution that made it possible for us to learn so much," George added in exactly the same tone, "you disparage our generosity. We are devastated."

"Yeah, pull the other one," Ginny said, but she added, "Well, it's really nice of you to do that."

"Glad you think so," Fred said, beaming. "Why don't you come along with us to the Library and help us convince old lady Pince we mean it?"

"Really?" Ginny said in a startled voice. She looked at Ron, who looked puzzled for a moment, then incensed.

"What about me, then?" he said, outraged. "Are you gonna hog all the glory for yourselves and leave none for me?"

"Course not!" George said, sounding just as outraged that Ron would think so. "We want you to come along, too!"

"Oh!" Ron stood, then cast a quick glance at Harry and said, "And what about Harry?"

"Well…" Fred gave Harry a long look before saying, "Harry, no offense, but this is a family affair."

Ron looked Fred in astonishment. "Are you _mental_?" he blurted out.

"WHAT?" Ginny shouted. Several heads in the Hall turned to look at them. "Are you crazy, Fred?! Harry's as much family as any of us! If it wasn't for him you wouldn't even _have_ your shop! If you don't want him along now, _I'm_ not going, either!"

"Me either!" said Ron loudly.

"No –" Harry was shaking his head and trying to stop any further outbursts "— don't worry about it, Ginny. I understand. Ron, I understand." Harry almost thought he _did_ understand; there were times when family was more important than friendship. Even if he couldn't understand why this was one of those times, he knew he could trust Fred and George to know what they were doing.

Ginny folded her arms across her chest and looked at her twin brothers. "Well I don't," she said flatly. Ron folded his arms across his chest as well, glaring at them balefully.

Fred looked at George with a disappointed expression, almost comically so. "You'd think after all this time they'd know us a bit better, wouldn't you, George?"

"Well, I always knew Ron was a bit thick," George said matter-of-factly, "but I did expect Ginny to catch on before now."

Ginny's stern expression relaxed. "So Harry _can_ come along then?"

"No," said Fred, so softly only the four others there with him could hear. "But it's for his own protection. We have a little business to conduct, but we don't want Harry walking around with us so he won't be blamed for anything."

"Oh, but you want _us_ walking around with you so we _do_, is that it?" Ron flared up once more.

"No," George shook his head. "We really _do_ want Ginny's help convincing Pince to let us donate these books to the Library. And we have a few stops to make before we leave. But you both will be back down in the Great Hall by the time we leave, so nobody will be able to blame you for what happens."

"What's going to happen?" Harry asked.

"Best you don't know, mate," Fred said with a wink. "See you round." The twins left with Ron and Ginny. Harry sat down, wondering what they were up to.

He was still pondering, several minutes later, when he was joined in quick succession, first by Hermione, then by Jon, who were both late getting out of their Ancient Runes class.

"We just had an amazing lesson today," Hermione was telling Harry as Jon joined them. I never saw Professor Vector look so astonished in all the years I've had classes with her."

"What happened?" Harry asked distractedly; he was still wondering what the Weasleys were up to.

"Jon showed her a possible solution to the Magic Dodecahedron puzzle," Hermione said, beaming at Jon, who was shaking his head.

"I don't think she really believed me, Hermione," he said diffidently.

"Well, no," she agreed. "You didn't actually _prove_ anything. But I think the concept you described is sound."

"Thanks," Jon said, smiling. "I'm glad you think so." Hermione smiled back. Harry fidgeted a bit, starting to feel uncomfortable. How did these two talk to each other when he or Ron _weren't_ around?

Hermione suddenly turned to Harry and asked, "Where's Ron at?"

"Umm… Fred and George showed up, they asked Ron and Ginny to go with them to the Library, to donate some books to Madame Pince and do some other things."

"Why didn't you go with them?" Hermione wanted to know.

"Fred and George wanted me to stay here."

"Why?" Hermione said, puzzled.

"Dunno. Oh, damn it!" Harry said, remembering suddenly that he had a question for them.

"What happened?"

"Oh, I was going to ask Fred and George for a favor. I hope they come back here before they leave."

"What kind of favor?" Hermione asked curiously.

"Just a favor," Harry said vaguely.

"Oh, a secret," Hermione said, eyeing him suspiciously. "I'll bet I could guess."

"You probably could," Harry said. He wasn't very interested in telling her just yet; she'd been upset when she'd heard about Ron's impersonation of his father. Harry didn't care to hear what she might think of him taking Polyjuice Potion so he could pretend to be Draco Malfoy in order to talk to his father in Azkaban prison.

At that moment Ron returned to the Great Hall, walking swiftly along the ends of the row of the four House tables and then up to where they were sitting. He looked as if he were biting his tongue to keep from laughing.

"Where're Fred and George?" Harry finally asked, when Ron kept looking toward the doors to the entrance hall.

"Gone," said Ron quickly. "They were in a hurry."

"Damn!" Harry said again. "I wanted ask them about – well, you know what," he said, eyeing Hermione significantly. Ron looked at her then back to Harry.

"Well, about that – I asked them, just before they took off. They said no problem."

Hermione, disgusted at the secrecy (seeing as it was at her expense), pulled a copy of the _Prophet_ out of her book bag and proceeded to become engrossed in it, ignoring them.

Harry and Ron proceeded to ignore her as well. "So what were they up to?" Harry asked.

"We did drop off those books," Ron said. "Funny, Fred and George completely misjudged Pince. She was thrilled to get those books! Praised Fred and George up and down, said they were doing the school and the Library a great service, and so on, blah-blah. They were completely dumbfounded, you should have seen it!" he finished, laughing.

"What'd they do, then?"

"Then they wanted to go up to our dormitory, said they had something to leave you; they wanted to put it in your trunk."

"But my trunk is locked," Harry protested.

"Yes, but we're talking Fred and George here," Ron reminded them. They had it open in about 30 seconds."

Somewhat nettled, Harry asked, "What did they put in my trunk, then?"

"They said you'd find it and a letter in your trunk explaining why they dropped it off," Ron said. "Wouldn't tell me what it was, either," he added, sounding vexed.

"Then what?" Harry pressed. "And where was Ginny during all this?"  
"She stayed up in the Gryffindor common room," Ron said. He was nearly bursting with excitement, he could barely contain himself. "They told her to. Said it would be best if we weren't all together when they left. They sent me off to wait for them in the entrance hall while they dropped off a final, er, 'gift' for someone."

"A gift?" Harry said. "Just before they left the school? Ron, what do you think they –"

"WEASLEY!!"

The entire Great Hall jumped as the doors to the entrance hall burst open, revealing a very wet, and very angry, Severus Snape. There were outbursts of laughter at his drenched clothing and dripping hair, but they quickly died away as he glared at the tables where the merriment was loudest. Leaving a trail of wet footprints, he strode squishily up to where they now sat, staring at him in astonishment.

"Mr. Weasley," Snape said, in a remarkably calm voice. "Do you know what I just found in my office?"

"No, sir," Ron said, truthfully.

"It was quite fascinating, really," Snape went on, still unnaturally calm. "An entire swamp seems to have found its way there. Do you have any idea why it might be there, Mr. Weasley?"

"Nooo… sir," Ron said, not sounding nearly as truthful this time.

"Oh, I think you do," Snape corrected him. "I seem to recall a swamp in the fifth floor's east wing a few years ago, put there by your brothers."

"Er – if you say so, sir," Ron said blandly.

Snape eyed him maliciously. "They were never punished for that misdeed, were they?"

"Well, I believe at the time, sir, everyone in school, all the teachers included, were happy to see the trouble it was causing Professor Umbridge," Ron pointed out.

"Silence!" Snape commanded ringingly. "No matter what you may think of the person holding the position, the Head of this school is always to be treated with respect." Ron remained silent.

"Now, since the Weasley twins are no longer attending Hogwarts, I cannot punish them," Snape continued, looking at Ron, Hermione and Harry through narrowed eyes.

"I suppose not, sir," Ron agreed.

"So I shall have to punish _you_ instead," Snape finished silkily. "Detention, Mr. Weasley, this Friday night, in my office."

"But this Friday's the Hallowe'en Feast!" Ron howled as several Slytherins, Malfoy included, laughed.

"Perhaps you should have pointed that out to your brothers before you allowed them to vandalize my office," Snape replied.

"Professor Snape," Hermione said, trying to keep her voice level. "Surely you can reconsider the time and allow Ron to be with his friends that evening; there is plenty of time on the weekend –"

"Perhaps you would like to serve detention as well, Miss Granger?" Snape cut over her. When she did not reply he smiled triumphantly.

Harry did not trust himself to say anything at all, lest Snape use it to inflict even more punishment on Ron, but he stared loathingly at the greasy-haired, sallow-faced man before him, the one person he could now say he hated more than Voldemort himself.

Hearing nothing else from Hermione or Harry, Snape said, "Be in my office at 6 p.m., Weasley. I don't think you'll need to worry about eating beforehand – what I have in mind for your detention may make be difficult to handle on a full stomach." He turned and strode imperiously the doors to the entrance hall, leaving a flabbergasted Ron staring after him, with Harry, Hermione and Jon looking on.

Ron spent the rest of the afternoon bitterly abusing Snape and the unfairness of being punished for something his brothers had done. Of course it wasn't first time it had happened, given Fred and George's precociousness. "They did this to me all the time!" Ron complained late in the day, finally switching to his brothers, having torn the fabric of Severus Snape's injustices to tatters. "Between having them, and Percy and Charlie to deal with, I was lucky to have survived to go to Hogwarts!"

Harry and Hermione, neither of whom had any brothers or sisters (Hermione was an only child and Harry's cousin Dudley didn't count, in his opinion) both thought Ron's protestations were a bit much. Neither of them said anything, though, knowing Ron was simply blowing off steam because of Snape's detention.

Somehow, in all the commiseration with Ron and listening to the horror stories of other students describing Snape's terrorizing his remaining classes for the day, then roaming the corridors seemingly searching for new victims of his wrath, Harry had forgotten about Fred and George leaving something in his trunk. As they trudged tiredly up the steps of Gryffindor Tower toward their dormitory after dinner, Ron suddenly whacked Harry on the arm and said, "We forgot about your trunk!"

"Come on!" Harry said, and with renewed vigor they ran up the rest of the steps and into their room. Neither Dean, Seamus nor Neville were yet in bed; Harry took out his wand, pointed it at his trunk, and removed the enchantment that magically locked it. The trunk popped open and both Harry and Ron dived into it, looking for whatever Fred and George had left in it for him.

Quite a few things had collected in Harry's trunk over the course of the previous year and the past few months of this school year. They piled up several old school books, scrolls of parchment, his Omnioculars from the Quidditch World Cup, the photo album Hagrid had given him of his parents, the various sweaters Mrs. Weasley had knitted him, two cards Ginny had sent him in past years, his duplicate Wand-Mate from Fred and George, and the two-way mirror Sirius had given him during his fifth year, now broken. There was also a great heap of rubbish: old candy wrappers, dry ink wells, a wrapper containing a half-eaten sandwich, and other detritus from years past. Nothing had turned up from Fred and George, however.

"Are you sure they put something in here?" Harry finally asked, looked at the heap of items they'd taken from his trunk. There wasn't much left in the trunk, only some broken quills and pieces of scrap parchment.

"I watched 'em put _something_ in there, Harry," Ron said, rubbing his forehead, trying to think. "They wouldn't let me get too close, though; I dunno what it looked like."

Harry sighed and stared at the bottom of the trunk. "Well, whatever they left, if anything, it sure isn't obvious," he said, annoyed. A moment later he and Ron both did a double-take.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Ron said wryly.

"Yeah. Of _course_ it's not obvious: it's Fred and George!" Harry said. "We've been stupid!"

They dived back into the pile of objects on the floor, looking for something out of the ordinary in the midst of Harry's things. After several minutes of looking, however, nothing had turned up.

Harry looked his trunk once, again, pulling out the last few scraps of parchment. None of them looked important; they were only idle doodling he'd done –

But one scrap made him pause. He'd written, apparently, the names "_Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot & Prongs_" on a piece of parchment. Just like on the Marauder's Map. But Harry could not remember when he ever might have done that. On a hunch he took out his wand, tapped the piece of parchment, and said, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

Words spread out from the point where he'd tapped the parchment. Harry read aloud,

* * *

_Harry,_

_Congratulations on finding our message, mate. Sorry to hide it like this, but we wanted to be sure only you would be likely to find it._

_Your trunk is most likely nearly empty right now. Tap your wand on the inside lining on the left side and say "Open Caraway" (we thought "Open Sesame" was too obvious). This will reveal the Portable Drawer we've developed. Inside you'll find a list of magical detection and revealment spells we'lve put together. Hope they're helpful!_

_Close the Drawer with "Close Caraway."_

_Ron told us about you needing Polyjuice Potion – we have some brewing, it'll be ready in a few weeks. It's a brilliant plan, by the way!_

_– George and Fred_

_P.S. Tell Ron we're selling Portable Drawers for 15 Galleons_

* * *

"Figures," Ron said. "You'd think it'd kill them to give their own brother something every once in a while. Whyn't you have a go at that drawer, Harry."

Harry tapped the inside left side of his trunk, saying "_Open caraway_," as he did so. The liner fell away from the side of the trunk, revealing a sizable drawer in which he found a parchment sheet with the list of spells on it.

"That'll come in handy," Harry said, admiring the roominess inside the drawer. He put the parchment sheet back into the magic drawer, then tapped it saying, "_Close caraway_!" and the drawer promptly shut and disappeared in the lining.

Hogwarts teachers, on the other hand, had quite a different view of what Harry, as well as all other seventh-year students, should be doing with their time that fall. Each teacher, as Ron later complained during that week, seemed to think his or her subject had suddenly become the only thing anyone at school was studying.

"Well, we knew this was going to happen," Hermione said pragmatically after their Wednesday classes, the one day they had courses all day together. "We've got a lot of studying to do for our N.E.W.T.s tests."

Saying this, however, hardly endeared her to Harry and Ron, who were beginning to feel crushed under the weight of homework and reading assignments. Their one reprieve, it seemed to Harry, was Quidditch practice, where he could stop worrying about Untransfiguration spells, Protean Charms, and the like, and just fly and enjoy the game. His enthusiasm for Quidditch began to come back.

Hallowe'en Day arrived and with it a definite dip in the temperature. The Great Hall's ceiling showed a gray, subdued sky; fireplaces roared to life throughout the castle in response to the colder weather. As six p.m. approached Ron's mood steadily declined; near the appointed time he stalked off for detention with Snape while Harry, Hermione, Ginny and Jon made their way down for the Feast.

The Great Hall had been transformed for Hallowe'en: instead of candles floating overhead, there were hundreds of pumpkins with candles glowing inside them. Bats were flying hither and thither around the room; squeaking so that students kept looking up apprehensively as they streaked back and forth over the tables. There were black and orange runners along the walls and edges of the tables and flaming orange streamers wove themselves through the air; indeed, the air in the Great Hall was so full of fluttering, floating and flying things one might wonder how they avoided crashing into each other.

The House ghosts as well as several others floated about the Hall, chatting with students. As Harry, Hermione, Ginny and Jon seated themselves at the table, they saw Nearly-Headless Nick reminding Dean Thomas that it was also the 505th anniversary of his death, something Dean didn't seem as interested in as Nick did; Dean shot Harry a long-suffering glance as they were sitting down.

"Ah, welcome!" Nick said, seeing them and turning their way. Dean made his escape to go sit next to Seamus. "Good to see you all here this year!"

"Hello, Sir Nicholas," Hermione said. "How are you tonight?""Quite well, my dear," Nick said, beaming at the use of his title and first name. "Your new Headmistress has certainly outdone herself for this first celebration of her administration."

The food arrived, appearing suddenly on their plates as it did during every feast. Feeling a bit guilty at enjoying it since Ron was now enduring one of Snape's detentions instead of being here with them, Harry nonetheless piled his plate full of victuals and proceeded to tuck in.

Hermione and Ginny were discussing classwork. Ginny was keen to hear about N.E.W.T.s preparation and Hermione equally keen to talk about it. Harry tuned out that conversation and began working on his generous portion of mashed potatoes and gravy.

Jon, across the table from Harry, was eating as well but also trying to look at all the activities going on in the Great Hall. It was true that this was about the most festive time one would see, at least until the end-of-term Feast in June. Thinking about that, Harry wondered: just how much would he, Harry, miss all this? This was his last year here, after all, and Ron's and Hermione's as well. After they left, the only people he knew well who would still be here were Ginny and Luna, who each still had their seventh year to get through.

Harry looked up as someone approached the table. It was Deirdre Recaunt, who sat down beside Jon. Jon, smiling at her, tried to offer her some pumpkin pasties, which she declined.

Some other Gryffindors had noticed Deirdre as well. "Oy, Recaunt!" Romilda Vane, several chairs away and sitting next to Jack Sloper, shouted. "Whyn't you go back to your own table?"

"Shut it, Romilda," Ginny shot back at her. "Deirdre can sit where she wants to."

"She's a Ravenclaw," Vane said. "We're supposed to sit at our House table during feasts!"

"Actually, that's not precisely the case," Nearly-Headless Nick interjected, gliding over the table to a spot between Deirdre and Romilda. "School tradition has had the House tables for nearly its entire history, but as a tradition it's not a –"

"Who asked _you_?" Vane said nastily.

Nick looked at her disapprovingly. "I daresay no one _asked_ me, young lady," he said tartly. "But as you saw fit to utter falsehoods about school rules I thought some correction was in order."

"Are you calling me a liar?" Vane looked at Nick as if she doubted he would dare say so aloud.

"Would you prefer that _I_ do so, Miss Vane?" Another voice rang out. Professor McGonagall had left her seat at the Great Table and was now between the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor tables, directly behind her.

Vane had spun around at McGonagall's voice; the sight of the headmistress standing, hands on hips, not ten feet from her quickly took the fire out of her. "No ma'am," she said, abashed.

"Very well," McGonagall said. "No one is required to sit at a particular table simply because of their House affiliation. I hope that is clear to everyone," she said, raising her voice so the entire Hall could hear her plainly. She turned and walked back to her seat at the Great Table as conversation slowly returned to normal throughout the Hall.

"That one doesn't like me much," Deirdre said to Jon in a low voice. "I don't know why, except she seems to think she deserves first choice among the boys in this school."

"That doesn't bother you, does it?" Jon asked her.

"No, but it's rather presumptuous," Deirdre replied, "without even a dominance ritual to establish order."

_A dominance ritual_? Harry thought, puzzled. He'd never heard of girls doing _that_. Was it some aspect of girl interaction neither Hermione nor Ginny had ever mentioned to him?

"I don't think that's how it works around here," Jon said. His eyes flicked to Harry's and he gave a small wink that Deirdre didn't see.

"I've noticed that," Deirdre said, "but maybe it's not so bad, though – I haven't missed it much."

"What is it you're talking about?" Harry blurted out. "A pecking order or something like that?"

Deirdre giggled. "Oh, no, no. Pecking's for chickens and while I have nothing against them, on the whole they're rather dim."

Harry made a rather confused face at this. Hermione and Ginny, who'd both still been chatting about N.E.W.T. work, stopped and turned to listen to Deirdre.

"What I mean is," Deirdre continued, "that we are all part of a social order, and we all interact with each other. In my, uh, group we understand our place in the order. It seems to be a bit different here – girls are friends one day, rivals the next, and back to friends the day after. People here who have almost nothing to do with each other keep challenging each other for dominance."

Hermione and Ginny looked at each other. "It's not quite that simple," Hermione began. "We all have something to do with one another –"

Deirdre tossed her hair impatiently. "I suppose that's true, if you all regard yourself as one big – well, family, I suppose. But that's not how you act, it seems."

"How do you think we act?" Jon asked, leaning toward her with interest.

"You're a good example, you know," she told him bluntly. "You went off to fight that blond boy one night, you told me. Because he _dared_ you! You weren't even acting to protect yourself or your family; you just went and had a fight with him because you wanted to. You _both_ wanted to."

"Yes, that's true," Jon said.

"Doesn't that strike you as being rather foolish?" Deirdre asked challengingly.

"It struck me as him being rather foolish," Jon replied evenly, keeping eye contact with her.

Deirdre snorted. "That is so egotistical!" she cried, getting up off the bench and standing over Jon, shaking a finger at him angrily. "I don't know why I put up with talking to you!" She walked to the end of the table, then, looking back at him, broke into a run and exited through the entrance doors, slamming them shut behind her.

Jon shook his head, smiling, and got to his feet as well. "Wait a minute," Harry said. "You're not going after her, are you?"

"Yeah," Jon said, "I am. I need to talk to her."

"I don't think she wants to talk to you, Jon," Ginny said. She looked skeptical about the wisdom in following Deirdre as well.

"She's just not used to the way things are done here," Jon explained. "She's not used to having large groups of people around her."

"'Large groups?'" Hermione repeated. "We've only got about 300 people in the whole school! How big is her village, anyway?"

"I don't know," Jon said, "but that's not really the point, is it? Just give her the benefit of the doubt. At least she's trying to learn, the same way I am – by going out into the world to see what's out there. Many students here have never even left Britain." When Hermione opened her mouth to protest Jon cut her off. "I know you have, Hermione. You've been to France, and Bulgaria. So I would think you would understand better than most." Hermione's expression went from puzzled to hurt; Jon looked at her a long moment, then turned and walked out of the Hall.

Harry turned to Hermione. "You went to Bulgaria? When did _that_ happen?"

"Oh, never mind," Hermione snapped, turning red. Not looking at either Harry or Ginny, she jumped to her feet and ran from the room as well.

Harry was still staring at the door in bewilderment when something bounced off his chest and landed on the table in front of him. Looking down, Harry saw it was a Peppermint Toad. At the Hufflepuff table, Zacharias Smith was sitting down; he had just thrown it at Harry. "Malfoy wanted you to have that, Potter," he called. "It seems like your breath is driving off everyone at your table!" There were peals of laughter from the Slytherin table; some students at Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff chuckled as well. The Gryffindor table, of course, didn't consider it remotely funny and there were hisses and a few cross words hurtled back at them.

Ginny leaned over and said in a low voice, "Let's get out of here." Harry nodded and they got to their feet, inciting a few catcalls and thinly-veiled wonderings about where they were going. "Ignore them," Ginny muttered as they walked past the ends of the Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin tables.

"What a disaster," Harry said as they walked across the entrance hall to the staircase on its east side. "Er – where _are_ we going?" he asked as they started up the staircase.

"Just walking," Ginny said, taking his arm. "I might as well take the opportunity to talk to you while I have you alone."

They walked aimlessly through the corridors, up one set of staircases and down another, until Harry almost felt he didn't know where he was in the castle. After this week, and especially after tonight, it was nice to just not think about things for a change. Even though the corridors were cold and dimly lit, Harry's nose held a flowery scent that somehow made him feel a bit more cheerful than he otherwise would have.

"So," Ginny finally asked as they walked along a stretch of deserted corridor. "What's up with you avoiding me lately?"

Harry stopped dead. "I haven't been avoiding you," he finally said.

Ginny shrugged. "You haven't exactly been chatty with me either, have you? We haven't been alone together for months now."

"Er – why should we need to be alone?" Harry asked nervously.

"So I can _talk_ to you, you idiot," Ginny said with gentle exasperation. "You don't seem to have much time for me at all anymore."

"Well, there are just things I have to do, you know –" Harry began in a low voice.

"Oh please, we've already been through all that," Ginny held up a hand, cutting him off. "You've been busier than a one-armed goblin at the Gringotts mint: N.E.W.T. studies, Quidditch, the Marauder's Map, flying down to London every few weeks to that Vault Tournament so Ron can daydream he's going to open it somehow. And you've just been off to Azkaban to see Crabbe's father! Is all that what you meant last summer by 'things you have to do?' "

"I –"

"Look, Harry." Ginny stopped and faced him squarely. "I wish I could be selfish and tell you to let someone else handle it, but we both know better than that. You are the bravest, best person I've ever known." Ginny's eyes were fixed on his; they were bright with emotion. "_I just don't want to lose you. _Do you know that?"

Harry nodded slowly and she drew him to her in a fierce hug. Harry let himself enjoy the moment; whatever else he had to deal with this year, whatever happened to him, he would remember this moment.

Ginny let him go and they walked on, enjoying the solitude and the warmth of each other's presence in the cool corridors. Once again, Harry was reminded that, what he had to do was for Ginny and Ron and Hermione, their families and everyone at Hogwarts; indeed, for _everyone_ in the Wizarding world, everyone who'd had to deal with the death and suffering Voldemort and his Death Eaters had put them through, both now, and in years past. _F__or neither can live while the other survives… _he would have to work ceaselessly, Harry knew, until he'd found what they needed to stop Voldemort.

Harry threw himself back into the search for Voldemort's Horcruxes with renewed vigor; as with Quidditch, getting back into the game, so to speak, sharpened his interest considerably. Hermione also returned to their research in Wizarding family books from the Library and, with Fred and George's suggestion, Harry began studying detection spells in his schoolbooks and other tomes in the Library.

The only person whose eagerness didn't return with great force was Ron; after the Hallowe'en night detention with Snape "stewing some really nasty stuff," as he recounted the experience, he was disappointed that they weren't going to the Fifth Round of the Vault Tournament, scheduled for the next day.

Reading about it in the _Prophet_ the following Monday, however, Round Five had almost been nonexistent. There had been two contestants, both of whom had failed to even attempt an opening; the news of dire consequences at such attempts had already left their mark, and St. Mungo's had stopped sending emergency teams to the Tournament, forcing Gringotts to hire independent Healers on Tournament days in case of emergency.

Harry paid most of these things little heed. Between Quidditch practice, where everyone on the team was showing improvement – even Ron, who seemed to be conquering the nervousness that sometimes made him less effectual as Keeper, to studying spells he could use to detect Horcruxes as well as spells such as the Imperius Curse (if he ever decided to check Neville for it) and discussing them with Hermione, who suggested applications for some of the spells Harry never would have thought of, to the slow but steady increase of N.E.W.T.-level work they were all being subjected to, the days blurred into weeks. Even Ron had stopped complaining about not going to the Vault Tournaments. He hadn't even mentioned going to the Fifth Round, a special one that had been scheduled for the day after Hallowe'en; Harry had thought it would be one he'd dearly love to attend, even though it would be on the same day as the Ravenclaw-Slytherin Quidditch match.

As it turned out, the Ravenclaw-Slytherin game, on the third Saturday of November, was a disaster for the Ravenclaw team. Slytherin commanded the pitch after Ravenclaw's Keeper was knocked out of the game, from a questionable block by Crabbe, that left him open to a Bludger hit from Goyle. Harry found himself appraising the skill with which the two Slytherins had set up the hit even as he shouted for Madam Hooch to call the foul. Malfoy was Seeker again; the entire team was working well together, much better than Harry had seen them in recent years; the Slytherins had fallen into some disarray after Marcus Flint (who, after all, had the benefit of an extra year at Hogwarts to Captain the team) had departed. But Flint's skill at captaining Quidditch hadn't continued after Hogwarts; he was now working in the security section at the Ministry of Magic, Harry reflected smugly.

However, none of that helped the Ravenclaws when Malfoy caught the Snitch and Slytherin won 250 to 70. As Harry and the rest of the spectators walked back to school, he wished Ron was around to bounce observations off of; apparently Ron hadn't been able to find him or had sat with someone else. It wasn't until after dinner that he saw Ron, however, and he didn't seem very interested in discussing the match; he was pale and looked unsteady on his feet, as if he were ill. When Harry asked how he felt, however, Ron just said he'd accidentally taken a bite from a Puking Pastille and hadn't felt well all afternoon. Harry shrugged and continued with his research in spell detection magic.

The only disadvantage to not going to London every other weekend was that Harry no longer had easy access to Fred and George. He received an owl from them the Sunday after the Ravenclaw-Slytherin match telling him they were almost finished brewing the Polyjuice potion and that they would send it back with Ron after the next Vault Tournament Round. _That_ puzzled Harry, because they had no plans to attend the next round. He sent Hedwig off with a reply saying that he'd have to make other arrangements since they weren't coming to the next Vault Tournament.

November gave way to December and even colder temperatures and bleaker, more windblown days. By the end of November, however, Harry had found out just why Ron hadn't been around during the Ravenclaw-Slytherin game and why he'd gone missing the last Saturday of the month, coincidentally the day of the next Vault Tournament Round: Ron was sneaking off to Diagon Alley on his own.

The Sunday after Round Seven, Harry, Ron, Hermione and Jon had studied right through lunch in their efforts to complete a difficult chapter in Transfigurations. At last flipping his copy of Advanced Transfiguration closed, Harry stretched mightily and groaned. "I need to get up and move around," he said, standing slowly and working his arms back and forth to loosen them.

"Why don't we go outside for a while?" Hermione suggested. "It's not too cold, we could walk around a bit and get some air at the same time." They all agreed and a few minutes later were walking down the main staircase in the entrance hall.

Dean and Seamus were walking in just as they approached the double entrance doors. "Going out?" Dean said happily; he seemed a bit giddy. "I feel great!"

"We've just come back from _Three Broomsticks_," Seamus amplified. He, too, seemed pleased with himself. "Had a few butterbeers to celebrate."

"What were you celebrating?" Hermione asked.

"Me birthday," Seamus said, grinning. "It's on Monday, but we thought we'd get a bit of a jump on it. D'you think I can get a cake for dinner tonight, so I can blow out the candles?"

"You never know," Harry said, smiling. It had occurred to him to ask Dobby the house-elf to arrange it when they returned to the castle. It would certainly be a high spot for Seamus's day. Dean and Seamus waved and helped each other up the staircase.

"You know, a butterbeer sounds pretty good right now," Jon said matter-of-factly, looking at Harry.

"You know, it does," Harry agreed. "Ron, what d'you think?"

But Ron didn't look very keen to go. In fact, Harry was surprised to see he'd begun to look a bit green at the idea. "I dunno," he said slowly. "My stomach's feeling a bit fluttery; maybe a walk around the grounds will calm it down."

"You can walk down with us to Three Broomsticks, Ron," Hermione said. "Perhaps Madam Rosemerta can make you a nice cup of tea," she added, a bit cattishly.

Ron looked at each of them, his face now almost comically green. "Alright then," he said suddenly, stepping between them, over to the signout book. "I'll sign us all out."

"Don't be silly," Hermione said, taking the quill from him. "We each have to sign the book ourselves, both in and out. You should know that – Mr. Filch has told us about a hundred times –" She stared at the book for several seconds, then looked back at Ron, who was slowly backing away now, looking sicker than ever.

"Ronald," she said, looking at him with a quickly hardening expression. "It says here that you signed out yesterday at 1:30 p.m., and back in at 5:15 p.m.."

"It does?" Ron said, sounding unconvincingly surprised.

"Yes, it does," Hermione said, her voice now positively flinty. "Where were you for four hours?"

"Well, I –" Ron cleared his throat "– I actually went down to Three Broomsticks yesterday and had a few. Butterbeers, you know. To take a break from all the studying and – you know, stuff, we've been doing lately."

"Um, no, Ron," Jon said, almost apologetically. "After Hermione and I finished our studies yesterday, Deirdre and I went to Three Broomsticks to spend some time together. We left here a bit after three and got back just before the curfew."

"He's right," Hermione said flatly, looking in the logbook. "They signed out about 3:15 p.m. and signed in at 5:55 p.m.."

"Ron?" Harry said, looking at him inquiringly. He _had_ to have a good reason for this. Harry refused to believe, after all these years, that Ron was up to something dodgy.

"Alright, then," Ron said flatly. He looked nearly as hurt as Harry felt. "If you _must_ know, I went to Diagon Alley to see the Vault Tournament! Happy now?" he finished defiantly.

All of them slumped in relief. But only for a moment, then Hermione stamped her foot in anger and frustration. "Ron, you great silly prat! Why didn't you just _tell_ us that at the beginning?"

"Because you don't care!" Ron said loudly. He'd backed away from all of them, toward the staircase; several students coming down had stopped at the landing and were staring. Ron didn't notice them. "You think the Vault Tournament is stupid and a waste of time! You just want to sit around and study about –"

"_Don't_ say it, Ron!" Hermione said warningly, cutting over him.

"Well, _I've_ got things I want to do too, Hermione," Ron told her. "I want to win the Vault Tournament! I know you don't think I can–"

"I've never said that!" Hermione protested.

"But you're thinking it, aren't you? _Aren't you_?"

"No," Hermione said. But she'd remained silent just a bit too long.

"Right," Ron scoffed. "_Poor Ron hasn't got much of a brain_," he said, mocking her tone of voice. "_He's always having me do his homework_ _for him_."

"Stop it!" Hermione shouted at him. She turned away, covering her face.

"Ron," Jon said, stepping forward. "She's been trying to help you. You know that –"

"Don't _you_ start on me," Ron snapped at him. "You're the cause of all this in the first place!"

"He is NOT!" Hermione screamed, spinning to face Ron again. "He's just my friend! Why don't you _get_ that?!"

At that moment Filch burst through the door at the north end of the room. "What the devil is all the racket going on –" He stopped, seeing Ron and the rest of them in confrontation. At the same time, the doors to the Great Hall creaked open and several students peered out at them in frank curiosity.

This was getting way too public, Harry thought. He stepped toward Ron saying, "Look, let's just go and have a drink and talk things out." He extended a hand toward Ron, "Come on, Ron."

But Ron did something unbelievable. He pulled his wand and pointed it, not at Harry or at anyone else, but into the air. "No, I'm not going anywhere! You go have a bleedin' drink if you think it'll do any good, Harry! Maybe when you see You-Know-Who, you can decide whether having a drink with _him_ will do you any good!" Ron turned and bolted up the staircase, pushing his way through the students standing there staring at him. Everyone in the entrance hall stood watching his exit.

Filch was the first to recover. "Alright, go on, the lot of you," he waved at the students standing on the landing and in the doorway of the Great Hall. They quickly disappeared, those on the landing running into the Hall and pulling the doors shut behind them.

"So," he said to Harry, Hermione and Jon, the last three of them standing there. "Are ye signing out or not?" His tone was neither sarcastic nor sympathetic. Harry didn't know what to do; Ron had never seemed so out of control before. Hermione herself was shaking and seemed on the verge of breaking down.

She suddenly stepped up to the signout book, scratched her name and the time on the first empty line, and ran out the door.

"Come on," Harry said to Jon; they signed the book as well and hurried after her. They found her already sitting in Three Broomsticks, bottles of butterbeer already set up for them, when they arrived.

It was nearly curfew when they got back, and both Harry and Jon felt acutely uncomfortable after having listened to Hermione describe in excruciating detail everything that was wrong with Ronald Weasley: he was lazy, thoughtless, shiftless, ill-mannered, vulgar, undisciplined, cheap, and not a very good kisser. At least she seemed to have worked out most of her frustrations by venting to Harry and Jon.

Harry nearly forgot about Seamus's birthday, too; it was fortunate that he happened to look into the Great Hall as they returned from Hogsmeade and saw Seamus and Dean just finishing up their dinners. "Be right back," Harry said to Hermione and Jon, and sprinted through the door on the right side of the main staircase and dashed down a flight of stairs and along the corridor until he came upon a picture of a bowl of fruit. For a moment he stood there, knowing it was the way into the kitchens but absolutely blank about how to get through it, until he remembered to tickle the green pear. Giggling, it turned into a large green door handle, which Harry quickly turned and ran through.

It had been a long time since he'd come down to the kitchen, with its enormous, high-ceiling room, large as the Great Hall above it and filled with glittering brass pots and pans and a large brick fireplace at the far end. As before, there were a great many house-elves scurrying around, busily going about their chores, although a few had noticed him and were bowing and curtseying at his approach.

"Welcome, sir!" one of them said to him, bowing so low his ears flopped over, nearly touching the floor. "How can we help you, sir? Is there some food you are wanting?"

"Er, hi," Harry said, looking around. "I was looking for Dobby."

"Dobby is here, Harry Potter, sir!" Dobby suddenly appeared nearby, his large green tennis-ball shaped eyes glistening with happy tears as he beamed at Harry. "Dobby is so happy to see Harry Potter! It has been so long! What can Dobby do for Harry Potter, sir?"

"Well, it's one of my classmate's birthday today," Harry explained, "and he said something about getting a cake. I just came down to see if you could whip up a cake for him. It's short notice, I know, I'm sorry."

Dobby looked about at the other elfs who'd stopped to watch this exchange. "Do you all hear?" he said to them, great tears welling up in his eyes. "Do you all see how wonderful Harry Potter is? He does not come to the kitchen to get food for himself – he comes to ask for food for one of his friends! He is truly a selfless and wonderful wizard!" All the house-elves in the kitchen suddenly burst into applause. Harry looked around, dumbstuck and feeling embarrassed.

"It will be done, Harry Potter! Dobby swears it, or he will –"

"Dobby, _don't_ promise to hurt yourself or anything like that if it doesn't get done!" Harry said quickly. "Just – thanks, and I'll talk to you soon."

Dobby bowed low again, then dashed off to comply with Harry's request.

Harry turned to go, but another house-elf caught his eye, one he hadn't thought about in some time as well. This house-elf, however, of all the house-elves in the kitchen, had not greeted Harry with a beaming smile, bow or curtsey. Aged and decrepit-looking, he regarded Harry with a look Harry knew must be deepest loathing and said, "The Potter boy forgets Kreacher, doesn't he?"

"Hello, Kreacher," Harry said, despite his aversion to the demented house-elf, whom he'd sent to the kitchens of Hogwarts at the beginning of his sixth-year, after he'd been given ownership according to the terms of Sirius's will. "I haven't forgotten you, no. I just haven't had anything for you to do, lately."

Kreacher turned away. "The nasty Potter boy never thinks of Kreacher unless he needs something from him. It is the way of all wizards, oh yes. But Kreacher wishes he was with proper wizards, like his mistress. She would make proper use of him, she would."

"She's been dead for years, Kreacher," Harry reminded him.

Kreacher was not listening, however. "Kreacher wants to go home, he does," he muttered, apparently not realizing he was still speaking aloud. "He wants to work for wizards who will treat him correctly, and not force him to work with common house-elves, oh no." Several of the house-elves looked at him, Harry saw, and their expressions were a mixture of pity, disgust, and umbrage.

Harry shook his head, turned, and ran back up to the entrance hall, where he found Jon and Hermione standing at the doors of the Great Hall, staring inside, where several students were gathered around Seamus and Dean singing a birthday song. Harry stuck his head through the doors as well, and Seamus, seeing him, raised both arms in the air in glee. A few student stepped back and Harry saw a large cake was sitting in front of Seamus, magical candles were floating above it.

"Harry, look!" Seamus shouted happily. "My cake!"

Harry raised a hand with a thumbs-up gesture, and Seamus returned it, then inhaled deeply and blew out the candles, which literally blew away themselves, dissolving to nothingness as their flames went out.

As Hermione and Jon walked with Harry up to Gryffindor Tower, she said, "It was very nice of you to remember to do that for Seamus, Harry."

"I thought it'd give him a boost for his birthday," Harry said. "I don't get much chance to talk to him anymore. Sometimes I even forget he's around at all."

_I wonder how much I've been taking Ron for granted_, Harry added to himself. _Would he have gone running off to the Vault Tournament alone if I'd take the time to understand how much it meant to him?_


	23. Bane

Chapter 23

**Bane**

Scheming with spells, Polyjuice Potion, and Horcruxes was one thing. Ron, however, was a quite a different matter, one Harry had to deal with carefully since Ron was his best mate. He'd become monosyllabic even around Harry; any attempt to broach the subject of the Vault Tournament was met with an indifferent shrug and nothing else. Harry had offered to go with him to the next Round of the Tournament, to no avail. Even Hermione offering to help him with Charms, one of his more difficult subjects, met with no luck.

Ginny offered a sublime solution which made Harry smile but which he nevertheless rejected: "Let me put a Bat-Bogey Hex on him; then he'll be so mad at me he'll have to tell you all about it. Then I'll just say I was worried about my big brother and he'll forgive me. Works every time."

The Friday before the Eight Round of the Vault Tournament, Harry was laying on his bed, studying, when Ron slouched into the room. He set his book bag down on his trunk and stretched out on his bed without saying anything to Harry. Harry in turn didn't look up from his book, but from the corner of his eye saw Ron was playing with the model of the Vault he'd gotten from Fred and George's. Ron seemed fully immersed in the model and after a few moments Harry went back to reading.

"So were you thinkin' of going to Diagon Alley tomorrow, or what?" Ron said suddenly, his voice carefully casual as he twiddled the knob on the Vault model.

Harry looked up from the book. "Yes, if you like."

Ron shrugged as if indifferent to Harry's response. "It might be a laugh," he said dully.

Harry closed his book and gave Ron a hard look. "Ron, I've already said I'd be happy to go with you if you like. I'm sure we can even get Jon to drive us, it's been over a month now since we got out of school on the weekend. How did you get to London on your own anyway, when you went before?"

"Apparated."

Harry sat up. "Really? All the way to London? By yourself?" Harry was impressed; he'd Apparated about that far, he figured, when he and Dumbledore had returned from the cave where they'd found the fake Horcrux back to Hogsmeade. But the need had been great, then, and he'd never tried to Apparate that distance since.

"Well, I did have some help from Fred," Ron said truthfully. "When we didn't go that first time I owled him and had him come to Hogsmeade to help me there the first time. You know, Side-Along. We Apparated to the Burrow first – it was somewhere I was familiar with – then went on to Diagon Alley."

"How was it, doing Side-Along?" Harry asked, very interested.

"Not too bad," Ron said, warming up; he was enjoying recounting his adventure to Harry. "Fred does a good job. I guess I had more fun doing that than I did at the Tournament itself. But the trip back to Hogwarts was awful."

Harry grimaced. "You didn't Splinch or something, did you?"

"Nah," Ron said, waving a hand dismissively, "but I tried making it in one go, and it made me sick to my stomach. You asked me later if I was okay an' I told you I'd eaten a Puking Pastille by mistake."And, as before, things were back to normal just like that. Harry got out a piece of parchment and wrote a quick note to Jon asking if he was interested in driving to Diagon Alley for Round Eight Saturday morning; if he wasn't, Harry figured he and Ron could make it there by Apparating. He tapped the parchment with his wand and it folded itself into a butterfly shape; with a puff of breath Harry sent it on its way to land on Jon's bed. He figured Jon would see it before he went to sleep tonight.

And so he did, and by breakfast the next morning they had once again assembled nearly the entire Vault Tournament crew: Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Jon and Deirdre. Harry had fallen asleep before Neville came to bed the night before, and he'd still been asleep when Harry and Ron went down for breakfast. Harry considered waking Neville up but he didn't see Luna at breakfast either. In the end he just let that slide; they'd probably go again the next time.

Ron kept the group entertained during the trip by describing the previous two Rounds; it was a toss-up which was more entertaining, the contestants' efforts to open the Vault or his efforts to get to Diagon Alley and back to Hogwarts by Apparating.

Jon parked in the same car park he'd used before and they made their way through the Leaky Cauldron into Diagon Alley and from there to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, and were happily greeted by Fred and George, who caught Harry aside at the first opportunity to have a private chat.

"First things first," Fred said, handing Harry two phials of Polyjuice Potion. "Just add a bit of Malfoy to this and it'll be good to go."

Harry took the phials. "Ron told you what it was for, then?"

"Yeah," George nodded. "Brilliant move, Harry, impersonating Malfoy to talk to his father."

"Hope it works," Harry said earnestly. "But why two doses?"

"In case of emergency," Fred said. "You never know when an extra dose of Polyjuice Potion could come in handy. Just think – if the fake Moody'd had some the night Voldemort came back, you might not be here right now."

Harry nodded soberly.

"And we might not be in our own shop right now," George finished, clapping Harry on the shoulder. "Although some might think me insensitive for saying so."

"You? Insensitive?" Harry made a dismissive gesture and grinned at both of them.

"Any plans for what to do with Malfoy while you're off at Azkaban?" Fred asked.

"No idea," Harry said. "I still haven't worked out what'll happen when Malfoy and his father talk afterwards and realize someone impersonated him. Not to mention that Malfoy's dad told him not to come round anymore."

"That could work in your favor, you know," Fred said thoughtfully. "If Malfoy doesn't visit him any more it might not come up in conversation anytime soon."

"That's true," Harry admitted.

"Ron says you brew up a first-rate Draught of Living Death," George added. "That's why you won the bottle of Felix Felicis last year from Slughorn, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Harry remembered. "I get it. If I can get Malfoy to drink some, he'll be out cold while I get to Azkaban and back."

"Or you could just Stun him and pour some down his throat afterwards," Fred suggested. "That way he won't have much chance to refuse it." Harry chuckled.

"Harry!" Ron's voice called out from the front of the store. "Let's get lunch before it gets too late!" Thanking Fred and George again for the Polyjuice, Harry rejoined the group and they made their way to a café not far from Gringotts.

Watching the groups of people passing by as they ate, Harry heard Deirdre say softly to Jon, "There doesn't seem to be as many people here today as there was the last time."

"Maybe not," Jon agreed. "I think the excitement's beginning to wear off a bit. This morning's _Prophet_ said there were only three contestants in today's Round."

"What will they do if no one can open it?" Deirdre asked curiously, looking around the table now, as if inviting comments.

"Someone will eventually get it open," Ginny said, giving Ron a sideways glance. "The only question is when."

"I've noticed that about you wizards," Deirdre spoke up. "Your society, that is," she added. "Always in a hurry to get things done, always busy with plans to do this or that. You never seem to _experience_ life – only to rush through it."

"So what advice would you give those contestants who're trying to open the Vault?" Ron asked her. Harry could guess Ron's motive for asking that, but everyone looked at Deirdre, waiting for her response.

The attention seemed to intimidate her, but she drew herself up and answered. "In Divination, Professor Trelawney is having the class try to predict which contestant will open the Vault." She smiled, looking almost indulgent. "I sometimes wonder how that woman ever obtained that position at your school. She seems truly hopeless."

Harry, who knew more than most about how Sibyll Trelawney got the Divination job at Hogwarts, said nothing. Hermione, however, who had no love lost over the subject, leaned forward and said, "She's a fraud."

There were murmurs of assent around the table. "I don't know why she even bothers," Deirdre said scornfully. "She's missing the most important point of all – it's not important _who_ opens the vault, it's what will happen _because_ of it being opened."

"And what's that?" Hermione said. Her voice had gone a bit cool; evidently she'd taken Deirdre for a skeptic from her initial comments about Trelawney.

"The signs point to a final, great upheaval," Deirdre said, looking around at them seriously. "It has been a long time coming, but it will end soon."

"What will end soon?" Harry asked curiously. "The war with Voldemort?" There were several gasps as other customers around them heard the Dark Lord's name spoken; they looked at him in consternation.

Harry lowered his voice. "Is that what you meant, Deirdre?"

But Deirdre, having seen looks of fear or suspicion from other wizards seated around them, shook her head. "I shouldn't be involved in any of your affairs," she said, looking apprehensive. And she would say no more.

Ginny spoke up. "We should get over to Gringotts anyway; it'll be getting crowded before much longer." They stood up to leave.

Hermione, next to Harry, was muttering under her breath as she got to her feet. "What?" Harry asked, looking at her.

She shook her had dismissively, but then looked at Harry and said, so low only he could hear her, "It's all rubbish, you know. That business about the 'great upheaval' – she's as bad as Trelawney."

"Trelawney was right about the Prophecy, you know," Harry pointed out.

Hermione shrugged. "A flash of insight, nothing more. She's running off the reputation of her great-great-grandmum. And I don't know what game Deirdre is playing at."

"Why do you think she's playing at anything?" Harry wanted to know. "Not everyone's as skeptical as you."

"You are," Hermione said, sounding almost as if she were accusing him of something. "You don't believe in any of this rubbish either, do you?"

"I just know," Harry said as they fell in behind the group now heading toward Gringotts, "that Professor Trelawney spoke the Prophecy to Professor Dumbledore before I was born, and she predicted that Peter Pettigrew would escape and join Voldemort. That one I heard myself."

Hermione didn't offer any more objections, and they silently followed the others over to Gringotts, where the Vault stood prominently, as it had the last time they were here, in the street in front of the Wizarding bank. The speaker's podium, hourglass timer and a row of chairs were set up, as usual, in front of the Vault. There was no sign of Bill, or anyone else, however, even though it was now nearly 2 p.m..

"Did the _Prophet_ say who would be trying to open the Vault today?" Ginny asked Hermione as they found a spot near the platform where they could easily see the Vault.

"No," Hermione said, shaking her head. "Just 'three contestants,' according to this morning's article. It was mostly about the last round and the overall inability of anyone to open the Vault."

"Makes for great advertising for Gringotts," Ron commented. "See how secure our vaults are!"

"Yeah," Ginny chortled. "Except when they can't get into one of their own vaults!"

"I got the impression," Harry said, looking at the Vault. "That this isn't one of theirs."

Bill Weasley walked out of the bank and onto the platform. "Welcome, everyone," he said after he'd stepped up to the podium. "Sorry for being a bit behind, but we were sorting out a few details."Welcome to Round Eight of the Gringotts Vault Tournament. We've seen some exciting magic in the past few rounds – I hope this round will prove to be every bit as interesting. Now, without further ado I'd like to introduce our first contestant. He's a little unusual, folks, but don't be alarmed –"

A figure stepped out of the front doors of the bank, and there was a collective gasp despite Bill's warning. Standing taller than a man, with sleek black hair and skin, a centaur trotted onto the platform to stand next to the hourglass timer.

"Whoa!" said Ron, startled.

"That's appropriate," Jon said softly, looking with interest at the centaur.

"Harry," Hermione breathed, grabbing his arm. "We've seen that centaur before, haven't we?" Harry nodded. "It's –"

"Bane," Deirdre whispered. Hermione looked quickly at her, then at Harry.

"Do you know him?" Harry asked.

Bane stood looking out over the crowd, an expression of mingled contempt and indifference. He looked, if possible, even larger and wilder than he had over a year ago when he and a group of centaurs had found him and Hermione being forced to travel in the Forbidden Forest by Dolores Umbridge to recover a weapon she believed hidden there. In reality, it had been a ruse by Hermione to get them into the forest where she hoped the centaurs would intervene. They had, but things would not have gone well for Harry and Hermione except for an unforeseen encounter with Grawp, Hagrid's half-brother, who chased off the centaurs threatening Harry and Hermione. Umbridge, by that time, had already been carried off by Bane himself, and had only been released when Dumbledore himself went into the forest to retrieve her.

"He's – he's known in my village," Deirdre said slowly, still looking at the centaur as he pawed the platform impatiently, waiting for Bill to finish reading the rules of the Tournament once again.

"Now, Bane," Bill said after finishing the reading of the rules. "Please put your token into the timer to start your 30 minutes."

Bane stepped forward. "I have something to say before I begin," he said imperiously, looking over the throng of people who stared, apprehensively, back at him.

"Humans," Bane intoned, his voice deep and powerful. The murmurs of the crowd all but died away as everyone's attention focused on him. "For millennia, we centaurs have observed the actions of both men and wizards, as each race has pursued its course through history. Always, we have sought to remain apart from the struggles between you and men, to divine our purpose in accordance with the celestial order, and to remain free of the madness of ignorance and fear both you and humankind mutually engage in with each other."

Bane pawed the platform restlessly. "The time has come, however, to put aside our solitude, to cast off our destiny to be left in peace. A great upheaval is coming, one which determine the fate of many in our worlds, for good or for ill.

"This artifact –" Bane pointed to the Vault "— represents a turning point for those in the Wizarding world and all whose lives touch upon and are touched by magic. This includes we centaurs.

"By claiming this prize, we shall force the Wizarding world to examine its own faults, its own failures, and its own preconceptions. In doing so, it is hoped, you will come to understand yourselves, and us, better. I will now begin." Bane produced his token and inserted it into the base of the hourglass timer. As the hourglass began its 30-minute countdown, he moved toward the Vault.

Harry saw Deirdre lean close to Jon. "He's misread the signs," she whispered to Jon, shaking her head. "He will fail. His anger is clouding his reason."

"Why is he angry?" Harry asked in an equally low voice.

Deirdre looked at him. "Bane has always opposed the status quo of his tribe," she said, watching as the centaur moved slowly around the walls of the Vault, examining them minutely as so many contestants had before him. "While they have always wished to isolate themselves from humans, Muggle and wizard alike, Bane has tried to force them into a more active role."

"For what purpose?" Hermione, who'd heard the conversation as well, now asked. "Centaurs chose to be regarded as Beasts by the Ministry of Magic. The ones we've spoken to, though, have always maintained they were more intelligent than wizards. If Bane wants to change that, why doesn't he just go to the Centaur Office at the Ministry to apply for a change in status, if that's what he wants?"

But Deirdre simply shook her head. "Only Bane himself knows his counsel on that."

Bane had completed his examinations and returned to the front of the Vault. He stood staring at it for perhaps a minute, then looked back at the crowd momentarily before reaching up into his mane of wild, black hair and producing – a wand.

The response of the onlookers was galvanic – there were gasps and cries of surprise and anger. "It's got a _wand_!" someone in the crowd shouted. Only wizards were allowed to own wands, Harry knew.

Bill stepped up to the podium, trying to calm to onlookers. "It's alright, everyone; we've verified that Bane has permission from the Ministry to carry a wand under special circumstances."

"Funny that Dad's never mentioned that before," Ron muttered.

"How many conversations about centaurs trying to open bank vaults have you had with him recently?" Jon asked with a smirk.

Bane had turned back to the Vault, ignoring the muttering and restlessness of the crowd, and began manipulating the dial, causing the tiles on the front door to slide and turn into different positions. Ron became very interested in watching, as did, Harry noted, Deirdre.

Bane's manipulations went on for some time. Harry tried to follow what he was trying to do with the tiles, but he could see no discernable pattern. Ron was equally lost. "I can't figure out where he's going," he said finally.

"He's attempting to set up an astronomical chart using the tiles," Deirdre said at once. "He's equating the symbols with the Earth, Sun, Moon, the eight planets, four minor planets Ceres, Pallas, Juno and Vesta, and Polaris the pole star, making fifteen."

"That's interesting," Hermione said, studying the tiles anew. "I would never have thought of that interpretation."

"But it's not going to work," Deirdre said, shaking her head. "Bane is not the one who will open the Vault."

"How do you know?" Ron asked quickly.

"He does not have the proper aspect," Deirdre said cryptically.

Harry was beginning to wonder how Deirdre could know all these things about Bane when suddenly there was a loud _CLICK_ from the Vault. The centaur moved back a pace and nodded at Bill, who then stepped up to the podium to announce, "Bane will now attempt to open the Vault. Everyone, quiet please."

Bane strode up to the lever and pulled it down. The lever moved freely but there was no other sound from the Vault. Bane tried to pull the door open but remained solidly in place. After several long seconds of pulling the centaur released the handle with an angry snort and turned away quickly, as if in disgust.

As he moved away, however, there was a soft _phutting_ sound and Bane reared momentarily onto his back legs. He spun halfway around with a bellow of rage, and Harry could see that there was a small arrow embedded in his rump. Deirdre let out a sudden giggle and Bane glanced quickly at the crowd before reaching back and plucking the arrow free. He threw the arrow at the foot of the Vault.

Bane appeared greatly agitated now, pacing back and forth across the platform, his attention switching back and forth between the Vault in front of him and the crowd behind him. Bill, still standing at the podium, said, "Bane, you still have ten minutes left of your allotted time."

Bane shook his head sharply, his long black hair flying wildly about him, and instead turned toward the front of the platform. He jumped off the platform, landing just in front of the barrier lines, and shouted, "Out of my way!" to the crowd, which quickly parted to allow him through. Harry and the others turned to watch as Bane galloped away up Diagon Alley, around the curve and out of sight.

"What happened?" Harry asked aloud. "Why did he run away?"

"The arrow," Deirdre said, a hand covering her mouth. She spoke so softly Harry barely heard her. "An arrow shot into a centaur's hindquarters is a grave insult, implying cowardice. Bane was humiliated." She turned away from Harry.

The crowd slowly reformed in front of the Vault as Bill, looking down the street where Bane had run, said, "It looks like Bane has given up the balance of his time, folks.

"Alright, let's bring out our next contestant. Ah, I see that the next ones are a team of two house-elves. Stanee and Ollie, are you ready, please?"

With two loud _cracks_, a pair of house-elves appeared on the platform next to Bill. Stanee, a thin house elf with a long face and seemingly permanent smile, and Ollie, a more rotund house elf, both bowed very low before Bill and after both searching though the assortment of pillowcases, towels and dishcloths draped about them, produced a pair of tokens, both of which were dropped into the hourglass timer, beginning their 30-minute allotment of time.

Harry turned to Deirdre; he wanted to hear more about the arrow and why it was such an insult, but she was no longer at Jon's side. "Where did Deirdre go?" he asked Jon.

Jon shook his head. He was chuckling at the two house-elves, who were arguing, somewhat comically, about how to go about opening the Vault. "She said something about going to freshen up," he said distractedly to Harry.

Harry scanned the edges of the crowd. He didn't see her anywhere nearby; she must've gone inside the Bank, the nearest building. However, as he looked toward the rear of the crowd, beyond its edges he saw Deirdre walking off in the direction Bane had left in, toward the exit of Diagon Alley. Was Deirdre following Bane somewhere, perhaps? For what purpose?

Suddenly, Harry wondered, why _was_ Bane going in that direction? Surely he couldn't simply wander out into the Leaky Cauldron and Charing Cross Road! He shot a quick glance toward Ron and Hermione but they were arguing about something to do with the house-elves; Harry sincerely hoped it wasn't about S.P.E.W. Hermione's society for elf protection had mostly been a disaster. Not wanting their argument to distract him from finding out what Deirdre was up to, Harry moved silently away from them in the direction Deirdre was going.

Once free from the crowd, Harry passed several shops before finding a tiny alley between two buildings, then slipped into it, and drawing his Invisibility Cloak from beneath his robe and putting it own. He resumed following Deirdre, now looking along both sides for any sign of her, or Bane.

The streets were nearly clear; only a few people were wandering in and out of shops. Harry had passed Flourish and Blotts and was nearly to Quality Quidditch Supplies when movement in the window of Eeylops Owl Emporium caught his eye. Moving to the window, he peered inside. There, in the dim light of the shop, he managed to make out the tall, imposing figure of Bane, who was able to stand fully erect only because of the tall ceiling of the shop, looking down expressionlessly at Deirdre, who was staring back at him, seemingly unafraid. They seemed to be conversing, but Harry could not quite hear what they were saying through the thick glass.

Harry reached for the door of the shop, but hesitated. A door opening for no reason would look quite suspicious to the centaur, he knew. Harry suddenly put a hand into his robe pocket. If only –

He was in luck! His fingers closed on a small roll of string he knew was an Extendable Ear. He quickly pulled it out unraveled it, then stuck one end in his ear, and whispered "Go!" to the other. The end shot out under his Cloak and under the door of the shop.

"– does indeed surprise me," Bane was saying, folding his arms across his chest. "I did not think any human would dare approach me without a wand in their hand."

"There are quite a few things humans will dare, when they need to," Deirdre retorted. She seemed quite fearless in his presence; there was nothing like her usual shyness evident in her demeanor or attitude.

"So I have seen, these last few years," Bane nodded. Harry frowned. Bane was acting nothing like the angry, mistrustful centaur Harry had witnessed in his fifth year, like one of the group who had repudiated Firenze for agreeing to work with humans when Sibyll Trelawney was sacked by Dolores Umbridge that year. "How is your father doing?"

Deirdre folded her arms across her chest, much in the way Bane had. "I didn't come here to discuss my father with you, Bane. Why did you break the Vows and interfere with human affairs?"

Bane raised an eyebrow at her. "Surely you know I was not the first to do so. Firenze left our herd to teach our ways to outsiders. Or perhaps you hadn't noticed the centaur wandering the halls of the castle."

Deirdre ignored the sarcasm. "I've got Professor Trelawney for Divination class," she said coldly.

"Indeed," Bane said, pawing the floor thoughtfully. "Are you finding her instruction educational?" Harry thought his tone sounded almost mocking.

"I've found her to have some interesting insights into the nature of the human mind and its predilection for seeing what it desires to see rather than interpreting the signs objectively."

"Yes, that is a difficult task for many of you _humans_," Bane said condescendingly.

"You never answered my question," Deirdre pointed out.

"There is no answer," Bane said dismissively. "The Vow was already broken. What I've done here today was not done for humankind, but for our kind, centaurs. When the Dark Lord succeeds in his quest, as foretold in the heavens, he will respect our attempt to possess the Vault, just as his own operatives have attempted to do as well."

"There have been agents of the Dark Lord at these Tournaments?" Deirdre asked, sounding startled.

Harry, of course, could have told her that as well. Trevor Nott was very likely been a Death Eater, just like his brother, Theodore Nott's father, was. There were other names, familiar from the lists of Death Eaters he'd heard of in the past, in the list of contestants from previous rounds. Was it possible that Deirdre, isolated in a small village, had had no real clue about the scope of Voldemort's effect on the Wizarding world before she'd arrived at Hogwarts?

"Many diverse interests have so far attempted to possess the contents of the Gringotts Vault," Bane said. "The Dark Lord's agents among them. But the contents themselves will ultimately have no effect upon the outcome of this war of the Wizarding world. The contestants themselves, however, will."

Bane walked over to the far wall of the emporium, where there was a large fireplace. Taking a handful of Floo powder from a bowl atop the mantle, he threw it into the embers, which leapt up into swirling green flames. "I must cut short our conversation – it is time for me to leave. Farewell, Deirdre Recaunt." He stepped into the flames. Harry strained to hear him call out his destination, but he heard nothing as Bane's body began rapidly rotating and he vanished.

Deirdre sighed, looking at the fireplace where Bane had disappeared, then turned to the door. Harry hastily withdrew the Extendable Ear and stepped quietly out of the way as she walked past him back toward Gringotts. Harry followed her at some distance, stopping only to duck into the same narrow alleyway where he'd put on his Invisibility Cloak, and removed it before unobtrusively rejoining the group a few moments after she did.

The two house-elves, Stannie and Ollie, had just ended their attempt to open the Vault by managing to knock each other out before ever actually trying to unlock it. Bill informed the crowd that the Tournament was being suspended until after the beginning of the year. With that, the eighth Round of the Vault Tournament drew to a close. Bill walked over to the two unconscious house-elves and, pointing his wand at them, revived both them with "_Rennervate_!" After a moment, the two sat up groggily.

"Is it opening?" Stannie said, blinking unfocusedly at the Vault.

"No, it's not opening," Bill said apologetically. "And you're out of time."

"A fine mess this is," Ollie snapped at Stannie, whose ears drooped and great round eyes scrunched up unhappily as he began to whimper under Ollie's resentful glare.

Harry, walking toward the Leaky Cauldron with the others, caught a snippet of conversation between Jon and Deirdre, who were trailing behind them.

"Did you talk to him?" Harry heard Jon ask, very quietly. He concentrated, straining to hear more.

"He had nothing to tell me," she whispered in reply, "except his usual equivocations about looking out for centaurkind."

"Has he tried to talk to Firenze?"

"I doubt if either of them would tell me," Deirdre muttered. "They both are convinced they are right."

_Right about what_? Harry wondered. What could Bane, and Firenze, it seemed, be up to that would involve someone like Deirdre Recaunt? And how could an outsider, an American like Jon, have become involved? Harry pondered these questions long after they'd returned to Hogwarts and he'd placed the two phials of Polyjuice Potion securely in his trunk. Both Jon and Deirdre would bear watching as well, he decided. Especially if Bane was trying to do something to impress Voldemort; that alone worried Harry.

Bane's other pronouncement, that Voldemort would "succeed in his quest," gave Harry serious pause. Voldemort's efforts for the past two years, since his return, had been focused on destroying Harry. Now, if Bane was correct, it would mean that he would ultimately fail in his attempt to destroy Voldemort and his Horcruxes. But Dumbledore had been so sure! And Harry, trusting in Dumbledore, wasn't about to give up without a fight.


	24. The Comedy of Hairs

Chapter 24

**The Comedy Of Hairs**

The next morning after breakfast, Harry shared his misgivings about what he'd heard Deirdre say to Bane and Jon with Ron and Hermione. They both were as disturbed as he'd been with Bane's claim that Voldemort would ultimately "succeed in his quest," as Bane had put it.

"Do you think Bane meant Voldemort's quest to kill you, Harry?" Hermione asked tremulously.

"What else could he mean?" Ron demanded. "You-Know-Who's been trying to kill Harry since he was a baby."

"And if Bane is right, he'll finally succeed," Harry said dully.

"Well, we'll just have to make sure he's _not_ right, then!" Hermione said shrilly.

Harry knew, however, that Hermione's determination to protect him would be useless unless they found a way to locate Voldemort's Horcruxes and dispose of them. Harry would also have to take on Voldemort himself, and that was the point where he was most likely to succeed. Every other time he'd faced him, Harry had been lucky, or Voldemort overconfident, or both.

Jon's remark to Deirdre, and her response, had also cast doubts in Harry's mind about the neutrality and motivations of both of Hogwarts' exchange students, especially Jon. What would he know of Firenze and his banishment from the centaur herd in the Forbidden Forest, unless someone had told him about it? Harry doubted Firenze himself would; friendlier than the other centaurs, he was nevertheless very closed-mouthed about himself.

Deirdre was becoming more and more of an enigma as well. Initially, Harry had simply considered her a gifted young witch from a small village somewhere near Hogwarts. Her conversation with Bane, however, had convinced Harry that she was more than she let on. From her comment to Jon, it was apparent that she could talk to Firenze as easily as she had with Bane, if given the opportunity.

It had also become evident that, as part of his return to popularity, Draco Malfoy had given up his weekly secret meetings with his father in Azkaban prison. Now, instead, he'd taken up strutting about the corridors of the school on weekends, docking points from students (especially Gryffindors) for the most inconsequential and trivial of reasons. In retaliation, Ron began stalking the halls as well, deducting points from Slytherins. Consequently, the Gryffindor and Slytherin hourglasses in the entrance hall showed almost no points earned, much to the pleasure of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students, who normally tended to lag behind on points. By the week before Christmas break, Ravenclaw commanded a respectable lead in House points with 232, followed by Hufflepuff with 190. In contrast, Gryffindor and Slytherin were a dismal 30 points apiece.

However, the House standings didn't concern Harry as much as his prospects of using Fred and George's Polyjuice Potion to speak to Lucius Malfoy disguised as his son. Those prospects now appeared to be nil unless he could find a way to get Malfoy alone next Sunday morning, as the Hogwarts Express would leave Hogsmeade Station the next day. He only had two doses of Potion to find out what Lucius Malfoy knew about the Helm of Gryffindor. Despite the danger in speaking to Malfoy, who would probably be on guard against just such trickery, Harry felt he had to make the attempt.

Tuesday morning after their Charms class, Hermione and Jon had set off to Arithmancy class; Harry and Ron were free until lunch. Bored with the common room, they had decided to wander about the castle to find something interesting to do.

But after nearly an hour of wandering along familiar corridors, up and down the ever-changing staircases, and avoiding Peeves, the activity had itself become boring. "Let's go down to the Great Hall," Ron suggested. "We can find something there to do until lunch." Harry agreed.

As they were walking down the staircase to the entrance hall, Ron, who'd been checking his book bag, suddenly cursed. "What's wrong?" Harry asked.

"Oh, I left – something – upstairs," Ron said, irritated. "I'd better go get it. Be right back!" and Ron turned and hurried back up the stairs. "I'll find you when I get back!" he called down as he reached the first floor.

"I'll be right here!" Harry called back, sitting down on the landing. He expected Ron had left his model of the Mystery Vault back on his bedside cabinet. Harry rarely saw him without it lately; Ron fidgeted with it even while he was studying anymore. Harry was starting to wonder if it was becoming an obsession with him.

The door on the north wall of the entrance hall, the one leading to the corridor of classrooms and the courtyard, opened and through it walked Deirdre Recaunt, followed by Firenze, the centaur who'd been sharing Divination teaching duties with Professor Trelawney since the previous school year.

"It's nice to see you again," Deirdre was saying as they walked slowly to the center of the entrance hall. "It's been a long time."

"Not so long," Firenze said, looking down at her. "I have only been banished a year and nine months." Deirdre laughed, and Firenze added, "However, I agree, it is pleasant to see you again. I trust you have been well."

"Yes, except for missing you. That's why I couldn't turn down this opportunity to come here to Hogwarts."

Firenze nodded slowly. "I understand. Although," he added, sounding vaguely disapproving, "it would have been my wish that you not do so. The heavens point to a coming reckoning, a –"

"A great upheaval, yes," Deirdre said with an ironic smile. "I told Harry Potter and his friends that when we watched Bane try to open the Vault at Gringotts."

"How serendipitous," Firenze remarked softly, "since Harry Potter is listening to our conversation at this moment."

Both Deirdre and Harry started. Harry stood and walked onto the landing of the staircase.

"Hello," Harry said as he reached the bottom of the staircase. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to eavesdrop."

Firenze shook his head. "It does not matter, Harry Potter. You are already a part of what is to unfold in the coming months. Deirdre," he said, turning to her. "Did you tell me you had a Divination lesson to go to this period?"

"Yes, I do," Deirdre said quickly. "I guess I'd better get there. I'll see you, Harry. Firenze," she said in parting, with a small bow toward the centaur, and hurried off up the staircase.

Harry watched her hurry away. Firenze had turned to walk slowly to the doors leading outside. "Excuse me, sir," Harry said quickly, before Firenze could walk outside. "Do you know that girl?"

Firenze looked around slowly at Harry. "She and I are acquainted," he said, with a slow, measured nod of his white-blond head. "We saw each other, from time to time, in the … village in which she lived."

"You used to visit her village?"

Firenze nodded slowly once again.

"But you don't now?" Harry asked. "Is it because you're banished? Why couldn't you, though – unless her village is in the Forbidden Forest itself," he added with a sudden intuition.

"Visiting her village would invite unnecessary danger, to herself and to others there. My former herd would see my presence there as disruptive."

"I thought your herd didn't want anything to do with humans," Harry said, watching Firenze carefully. He was getting the vague impression that something wasn't adding up with the centaurs and this "village" he and Deirdre kept mentioning.

Firenze looked at him solemnly. "Harry Potter, we centaurs do not consider humanity to be our benefactors or our masters. But neither do we consider them our enemies. If we did, I would not be here and you would not know about the coming upheavals foretold in the heavens."

"About that," Harry said, speaking tentatively, carefully. He felt he had to ask Firenze this question. "Does your kind really see Voldemort achieving his quest?"

Firenze blinked. "You have a rare quality, Harry Potter, of learning things before most humans do. We have read that in the heavens, yes. It has caused us some concerns."

"It causes me some as well, too!" Harry said grimly.

"Then understand this, Harry Potter," Firenze said. His tone had become quite serious. "We do not foresee the life or death of one man, or another. We see the fortunes of our races."

"But there's the Prophecy –" Harry began, but Firenze shook his head, cutting him off.

"Human Seers deal with events, fleeting moments in the lives of individuals," Firenze said carefully. "Centaurs are not interested in such subjective, biased episodes. If I were to invoke a human analogy I recently heard, we are not as interested in the threads as we are in the tapestry."

Ron came bounding down the staircase. "Harry, I thought you were going to wait for me –" he looked up as he reached the bottom of the stairs and, seeing Harry and Firenze standing in front of the entrance doors, stopped dead in his tracks. "Blimey," he said, surprised. "Uh, hello there."

Firenze inclined his head a fraction. "Hello, Ronald Weasley," he said. The centaur turned again to Harry. "I must leave for a while, being inside too long dulls my senses."

"I know what you mean," Harry said, nodding in return. "My head could use a good clearing, I think."

Firenze walked to the doors and opened them. The weather outside was gray and cold, but Firenze seemed almost invigorated by the brisk air. Before he left, he looked back at them. "Remember what I've said, Harry Potter. We do not often impart such information to humans." With a final nod, he walked outside and carefully down the staircase leading to the ground. The doors behind him shut of their own accord.

Ron finally found his voice again. "What was _that_ all about?"

"I wish I knew, Ron," Harry said seriously, looking at him. "All I got out of it was that the other centaurs think Voldemort will win, too."

Ron looked stricken. "Oh, blimey, Harry," he said, looking defeated. "So what do we do _now_?"

"I'll tell you what we don't do," Harry said decisively. "We do _not_ give up just because it's been foretold that Voldemort is going to win. I think that's what Firenze was trying to remind me of just now."

"But he's the one who told you You-Know – okay, _Voldemort_, then! – was going to win," Ron said.

"He did, but I'm guessing some of the centaurs, at least, aren't too happy about that," Harry surmised. "They probably realize they'll get a lot worse from Voldemort and the Death-Eaters if they and their ideas of 'blood purity' become the dominant view."

"Come on, then," Harry said, and they turned to go into the Great Hall. "We need to figure out a way we can get Malfoy alone this Sunday so I can get to Azkaban and talk to his father."

The last week of classes lumbered along with the usual pre-holiday reading and homework assignments, magnified several-fold for the N.E.W.T. students in seventh year. Hermione, clearly in her element, was nevertheless distracted at times as well. Her book bag, always full, had been joined by a another bagful of books on Wizarding lines and ancient artifacts as she was still searching dutifully for another potential Horcrux, whether a Gryffindor artifact or one from Ravenclaw.

Fortunately the teachers (with the usual exception of Snape) had relented by the end of the week and had given minimal reading assignments over the break. Predictably, Snape had assigned a practical that members of the D.A., at least, were well-versed in: Stunning spells. They were supposed to practice Stunning each other and using _Rennervate_ to revive stunned students, then record the outcomes and discuss the results in not less than 18 inches of essay. To make it even more difficult, Snape had required that only students of each Defense Against the Dark Arts class practice on each other, meaning that they had to do the practical in the evenings or on the weekend before the break.

Harry and Ron, of course, had picked each other as partners for Snape's practical, trusting that Hermione would pick one of the other Gryffindor girls. Both of them were outraged to hear that she'd chosen Jon as her practical partner.

"Why didn't you pick one of the girls?!" Ron sputtered incredulously. "You know he's getting dodgier by the day!"

"That's not true and you know it, Ron," Hermione snapped. "There might be a perfectly logical explanation for why he and Deirdre were talking about Bane and Firenze."

"He could partner with Deirdre, couldn't he?"

"Ron," Harry said in a low voice. "She's a Ravenclaw – they're not in our Defense Against the Dark Arts class."

"Bollocks," Ron muttered. "What about Parvati?"

"I asked, but she'd already gotten a partner," Hermione replied.

"What about Lavender?"

Hermione snorted. "I am _not_ partnering with your girlfriend, Ron!"

"_She's not my girlfriend_!" Ron hissed.

"She _was_. Nevermind, it's no big deal," Hermione said flatly, dismissing the subject. "Jon and I are doing the practical together and that's the end of it."

And in the end they managed to complete the practical without too much difficulty. Harry posted a note in the common room suggesting times they could meet in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom Thursday and Friday evenings and on Saturday. A few signed up for the evenings, but the majority of the seventh-year students elected to show up Saturday afternoon in lieu of a final trip to Hogsmeade, as the weather had turned blustery and cold.

Snape was not at all happy about having "his" classroom taken over at night and on the weekend by students, especially Gryffindors, but when McGonagall heard the details she was indignant. "You can't give an assignment like that then not allow the students a place to do it, Severus," she'd said, reasonably when Snape protested about the after-hours use of his classroom. Snape had to capitulate to McGonagall's logic, but Harry half-expected to find him in the classroom with them, watching everyone like a hawk as they performed their practicals. Fortunately, Snape gave the room a wide berth while they were there, although all of his desk drawers and cabinets were securely locked.

The downside of the arrangement was that _all_ of the students who'd gotten Snape's assignment were to be allowed use of the classroom, and this included the Slytherins. Fortunately, that worked itself out as well, as the Slytherins refused to come into the classroom while Gryffindor students were present doing their practicals. They waited outside, laughing at and mocking the Gryffindors, until they were finished using the room.

"Hey, Potter," Malfoy said as Harry, Ron and the other Gryffindors who'd done their practical on Saturday afternoon left the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. "Too bad you and I didn't partner – I would've showed you the right way to cast a Stunner," he said laughing.

"Come on, Harry," Ron said, taking Harry's arm to move him and Malfoy away from one another, but Harry didn't budge.

"Maybe you could show me how to do a Killing Curse, Malfoy," Harry said acidly. "Oh wait – you already had a chance, didn't you, and you _couldn't_."

Malfoy, who'd turned away, spun around, poised to draw his wand. "Want to try me, Potter?" he said menacingly.

"No use," Harry sneered. "Snape's not around to curse me when you chicken out."

Malfoy's face contorted in fury, but at the last moment seemed to control himself with a supreme effort. "Come on," he said to the other Slytherins. "There's no use wasting our time over this lot." They disappeared into the classroom, slamming the door shut.

"Wonder why he backed down like that," Ron said as they walked back to the Gryffindor common room. Harry shrugged.

"It could be part of the arrangement he worked out with Snape," Jon, who had been walking back with the group, considered. "If Snape is still protecting Malfoy, he might not want you two confronting each other."

"He seemed pretty confrontational just now," Ron averred, but Harry could see some logic in what Jon said.

The Gryffindors were splitting up into smaller groups. Harry, Ron, Hermione and Jon returned to the common room where Harry, facing the Fat Lady, gave the password. "Codswallop."

"Same to you," she said, giggling, and swung open for them.

"Malfoy's been doing as he's been told, lately," Harry said as they walked into the Gryffindor common room. "He sure picked an inconvenient time to toe the mark, unfortunately."

"_I _think it's fortunate," Hermione said archly. She then lowered her voice. "It's not a good idea for you to run off to Azkaban impersonating Malfoy, Harry."

"So you keep telling me," Harry said wearily.

"Well, think about it!" Hermione persisted. "You don't know what Malfoy's been up to lately, even if it seems he's being 'good'. The Ministry might decide to pick him up at exactly the same time you're posing as him. Then where would you be?"

"Well, in Azkaban, obviously," Harry said simply. "But after an hour'd I'd change back to me again. D'you think they'd lock me up just for playing a prank on Malfoy like that?"

"If Lucius Malfoy had the pull to get Buckbeak sentenced to death," Hermione said seriously, "I think it's possible."

"But Malfoy's in prison himself right now," Ron pointed out.

"And there are friends of his at the Ministry," Hermione countered. "Look at all the Slytherin we saw just this summer. Dolores Umbridge is still there. And Cornelius Fudge still has the ear of a few people there, I've heard. Neither of them had any love lost on Professor Dumbledore, Harry, and they might just use such an excuse to get you out of the way."

"You think they're in league with Voldemort, too?" Jon asked.

"I think they're in love with the power they possess," Hermione said. "For Voldemort, the purpose of power is power."

"Yes," Harry agreed. "Quirrell told me what Voldemort had told him, that there was no good or evil – there was only power, and those too weak to use it."

"But that doesn't prove that people who love power are in league with Voldemort," Jon objected. "Only that they agree on that point."

"You're right," Hermione admitted, "but we're getting off the subject, that Harry shouldn't risk going to Azkaban as Malfoy."

Harry disagreed, but he wasn't about to argue the point with Hermione. She was convinced he was in danger. Which was true – they _all_ were in danger as long as Voldemort could return. But she couldn't quite grasp that in dangerous times, one must make dangerous choices.

Unfortunately, if Harry couldn't find a way to get some of Malfoy's hair and talk to Lucius Malfoy by tomorrow, it would be next year before he could make another attempt, and during the winter the trip to Azkaban, in the North Sea, would be a frigid one.

Sunday morning Harry, Ron and Jon were all awake and in the Great Hall by 8 a.m. for breakfast, determined to find a way to catch Malfoy alone so Harry could get a bit of hair from him. Hermione, who still didn't agree with the idea and refused to even stand by and watch it unfold, came down a few minutes later and pointedly walked past where they were sitting, joining Ginny and some of her friends.

"Forget it," Ron said after watching her walk by. "She's probably just jealous she didn't think of the idea."

"She thinks it's dangerous," Jon said in a low voice.

"She's not wrong," Harry said, pointedly. "But a lot of things we've had to do in the last few years have been dangerous. That doesn't make them not worth doing."

Malfoy came down to breakfast, attended by Crabbe. They sat down and began getting breakfast. To Harry, who was watching him carefully, Malfoy seemed more agitated than normal; he piled food high on his plate only to push it away after barely touching it. Crabbe was waving people away from him.

"He's up to something," Harry said. "I can feel it. He's more nervous than normal."

"And where's Goyle?" Ron asked. "You usually don't see Malfoy without both those gits hovering about him."

Malfoy was getting up and sitting down; he couldn't seem to decide what to do. He kept pouring glasses of pumpkin juice from pitchers on the Slytherin table. But he wasn't eating, and he wasn't doing anything else, it seemed. At one point, just as the bells rang at 9 a.m., he ducked under the table for several seconds, and Harry was about to dive under the table as well to see what he was doing down there when he popped up again.

Malfoy gestured for Crabbe to come over and whispered something in his ear. "What d'you think is going?" Ron asked Harry.

"No idea," Harry said. "But look at Crabbe!" Crabbe had jumped up, looking about wildly, and ran from the Great Hall.

"Should we follow him?" Ron said, starting to get to his feet.

"No, Malfoy is who we're sticking with," Harry said determinedly.

Malfoy sat at the Slytherin table, getting more and more nervous, hardly answering the other Slytherins who greeted him as they came and went at their table, until a few minutes later when Crabbe burst through the doors of the Great Hall and ran up to him, panting. They had a hurried, whispered conversation, then Malfoy jumped up as well and they both ran from the Hall.

"_Now_ we follow them," Harry said. They made their way quickly to the entrance hall. Harry desperately wished he had the Marauder's Map. It would have greatly simplified tracking the pair, but they would have to make do without.

As they started up the stairs, Harry gestured them all to stop, and they listened carefully for a pair of rapid footsteps. Hearing a faint set traveling up another set of stairs, they hastened to the first floor stairway and listened again. Malfoy and Crabbe seemed to be making their way upward in the castle.

Listening again, they followed the footsteps to the second floor, then the third, then the fourth. "Where the hell is he going?" Ron whispered as he and Jon brought up the rear behind Harry.

"I think I can guess," Harry said softly. "But we'll know for sure by the next floor."

And sure enough, tracing their path on the fifth floor, the trio heard Malfoy and Crabbe's footsteps at the top of the sixth floor staircase, moving away.

"That clinches it," Harry said triumphantly. "He's heading for the Room of Requirement! If he was heading for the prefects' bathroom he'd have stopped on this floor. Come on!"

They padded softly up the sixth floor staircase to the seventh floor. Approaching the corridor, Harry peered carefully around the corner. Malfoy was pacing up and down the corridor in front of the wall opposite the tapestry while Crabbe stood nearby, watching nervously.

Harry silently took out his wand; Ron and Jon did likewise. Pointing at Jon, Harry mouthed the words "Stupefy" and "Crabbe." He put his finger over his lips to indicate the spell should be silent. Jon nodded gravely. Pointing at himself and Ron, Harry mouthed the word "Malfoy" and watched Ron nod as well. He held up three fingers and mouthed, "On three. Two. One. Now!" Three wands pointed around the corner and three red bolts flashed across the space between them. Malfoy and Crabbe both flew off their feet and landed, unconscious, on the stone floor of the corridor.

"Yes!" Ron said, punching the air in triumph. They ran over to the two unconscious forms.

"Get the hair," Jon said, handing Harry a small glass vial. Harry reached down and pulled out several strands of Malfoy's hair, placing them carefully in the vial then stoppering it. He placed it in his robe with the two phials of Polyjuice Potion Fred and George had given him. He would only use one; the other was along "just in case."

"Got it!" Harry said as the vial clinked into his pocket.

"Great!" Ron said. Then he looked at the unconscious figures on the floor. "What do we do with them?" he asked. Harry and Jon looked at each other; at the same instant both of them shrugged.

Then Jon pointed at the blank wall beside them. "Why don't we put them in the Room of Requirement?" Harry's eyes lit up.

"Brilliant!" he cheered. "Okay, I should be able to do this. I _need_ to," he added. He began walking back and forth in front of the wall, saying "I need a place to keep two unconscious people for a while. I need it. I need it. I _need_ it."

On his third pass the familiar wooden door appeared and they quickly grabbed Malfoy and Crabbe's legs, dragging them into the room where they found a rather soft carpet and a cabinet with several potions in it, including two marked "Draught of Living Death" as well as several books, one of which was titled, _Kidnapping for Fun and Profit in the Wizarding World_, by Janus Croideux.

Grabbing the two bottles, Harry handed one to Ron. "We need to revive them enough to give them these potions," he said, looking at Jon, who nodded.

"Leave it to me," he said, pulling out his wand. "Get ready with the potions." Harry and Ron each unstoppered their bottle and knelt down beside each Slytherin. "Cover their eyes," Jon said, and Harry and Ron did so. Pointing his wand first at Malfoy, then Crabbe, Jon softly said, "_Rennervate._" Both figures began to stir slowly.

"Uhh," Malfoy said groggily. "C-can't see…"

"Drink this," Harry said, whispering to disguise his voice. "It'll help." He put the potion to Malfoy's lips; the Slytherin lifted his head feebly and drank, then fell back completely unconscious. Looking over at Ron, he saw that Crabbe was similarly asleep. Ron gave him a thumbs-up and they both jumped to their feet.

"Let's go," Harry said, and they ran out the door and down the corridor toward Gryffindor Tower. Stopping outside the portrait of the Fat Lady, Harry pulled his Invisibility Cloak from his robe and said, "Erumpet," the new password for the week. As the Fat Lady's picture swung open, Ron and Jon joined Harry under the Cloak and they moved into the common room under it, invisible, and toward the fireplace and the secret passage down to the base of Gryffindor Tower. Fortunately the common room wasn't busy at this moment – they had little time to spare. Entering and moving along the passageway, they emerged from the base of the castle and made their way as fast as they could under the cover of the Cloak to the Whomping Willow.

Freezing the Willow, each of them slid down the incline to the passageway and jogged along it until they reached the Shrieking Shack, then from there into Jon's hidden rooms and into his Corvette. Within five minutes of leaving the Room of Requirement they were in the air making headway toward the North Sea and Azkaban.

Once in the air, Jon glanced at Harry, who was breathing heavily. "Are you alright, Harry?"

Harry nodded, swallowing and catching his breath. "Just a bit winded, I'll be alright."

"Are you ready to do this?" Jon looked carefully at him.

"He's fine," Ron said, a little more roughly than he needed to.

"Just asking," Jon said, and fell silent.

There was silence for nearly half a minute before Ron looked at Jon again. "Sorry," he mumbled. "I was just thinking how nervous I was, when I was talking to Lucius Malfoy while wearing my father's mask."

"No problem," Jon replied. But he didn't smile or look at Ron. None of them spoke again for the rest of the flight.

Within three-quarters of an hour they were settling onto the beach of the island where Azkaban was situated, very close to where Jon had landed before. Harry reached into his robe and pulled out the phial of Polyjuice potion and the bottle containing Malfoy's hairs. He shook out a few hairs into his hand, then unstoppered the phial and dropped them in.

The Polyjuice went from its thick mudlike texture to a khaki color. Harry held it up for a moment, as if making a toast, then drank it down in three gulps. It tasted as nasty as it did the last time he'd drank it, like overcooked cabbage. There was something wrong with that thought, but before Harry could consider it further, he began to change.

He doubled over, feeling sick, his insides churning, then a horrible melting feeling spread throughout his body. Beside him, Ron was twisting away, pushing himself back toward Jon's side of the front seat. Looking at his hands, Harry saw them begin to thicken, his fingers and nails broadening.

_This isn't right_, Harry thought disjointedly. _Malfoy's hands didn't look like this_! But there was no stopping the change, and Harry felt his robe tear along the back and his feet cramp inside shoes now too small for his feet. "Oh, blimey," Ron said softly.

The sensations stopped. "Oh, blimey!" Ron said again, and Harry looked at them. Both Jon and Ron's eyes were wide, as if seeing someone they didn't expect to see. "Oh, blimey, Harry," Ron said a final time, staring at him helplessly.

"I'm not Malfoy, am I?" Harry asked, and both of them shook their heads, openmouthed. Harry looked at his hands – broad, thick fingers and nails, rougher than his own, and felt his face – equally broad with a low hairline and eyes set deep in the head. "I changed into Gregory Goyle, didn't I?" he said at last, feeling sick.

Jon reached up and turned the rearview mirror on the windscreen toward him. Harry stared into Goyle's face, revolted. "That sneak Malfoy!" he hissed, furious at the trick Malfoy had pulled on them. "He had Goyle Polyjuiced to look like _him_!"

Both Jon and Ron had covered their mouths and were now trying to look anywhere but at Harry and keep from laughing. "Ron!" Harry said, outraged.

"Sorry, Harry," Ron said, and a snigger slipped past his lips. "Sorry," he said again. "But you got to admit –"

"Yeah, yeah, it's dead funny," Harry said sardonically. "But now what? I can't go into Azkaban looking like _this_! Unless I want to talk to Goyle's father," he added as an afterthought. "And where's Malfoy got off to, if he's not at the school?"

Jon suddenly pointed ahead of them. "Speak of the devil," he said softly. They all looked out the windscreen where they saw Draco Malfoy just walking out of the crooked path that led to the entrance of Azkaban prison. He walked up to the guard shack that stood at the end of the path, on the beach, and went inside.

"He's still coming here!" Harry said, almost to himself. "Get ready!" he told them, and scrambled out of the car.

"What are you going to do?" Ron hissed at him as Harry turned to push the door closed softly.

"No idea!" Harry said in a whisper, then turned and dashed for the shack, his feet pounding painfully against the sand in his now too-small shoes. Just as he came within ten feet of the shack, Malfoy emerged again, carrying his Firestar. "Hey, Draco!" Harry called, running up to him in great agitation. "Draco!"

Draco started and turned, looking dumbstruck to see Goyle approaching him. "What the hell are _you_ doing here, Goyle?" Malfoy demanded. "You're supposed to be pretending to be _me_ back at school!"

"I had to come warn you, Draco!" Harry gibbered, trying to sound as agitated as possible, almost as agitated as he actually felt. "Potter was trying to catch me alone – I dunno what for, but I came here to warn you!"

"How could you have possibly gotten here?" Malfoy looked at him incredulously. "It takes me over an hour to fly here on my Firestar!"

Harry stood transfixed for a moment, trying to come up with something, anything, that would sound plausible to Malfoy. Then, suddenly – "I used the Room of Requirement, Draco! I did just like you – I walked past the wall three times, thinking, 'I need a way to get to Malfoy, I need a way to get to Malfoy!' and it opened up and there was a fireplace going inside, with a bowl of Floo Powder next to it, and I threw the powder into the fire, stepped in and said 'Draco Malfoy!' and it brought me to the fireplace in there!" Harry pointed to the shack where he knew the fireplace was.

Draco looked back at the shack, then at Harry. "You imbecile!" he snarled. "If Potter was bothering you, you could just take points away from Gryffindor, or report him to Snape! When you're me, you're _Head Boy_ – you can do whatever you want!"

"Oh," Harry said, looking down. "I forgot." He really _had_ forgotten about Malfoy being Head Boy.

"What the hell happened to you, anyway?" Malfoy said, looking over Harry's torn and too-small robe. "You look like –" he suddenly dropped his broom and drew his wand, moving back away from Harry, along the beach.

His eyes narrowing, Malfoy suddenly smiled thinly. "Good try, Potter," he drawled, pointing his wand at Harry. "You might have fooled me long enough but for the clothes." Smiling triumphantly, he aimed straight for Harry's chest. "It looks like you're going to be found here, paralyzed, at Azkaban, and you'll have some serious explaining to do. Maybe if you're lucky, they'll give you a cell next to my father. You _were_ here to impersonate me and talk to him, weren't you? A brilliant plan, if I do say so myself, but not as brilliant as the one I cooked up to beat you at your own little game. Goodbye, Pot—"

"Oh, shut it, Malfoy," Ron's voice, behind him, said irritably.

Malfoy spun, but before he made it around he was struck by two red bolts of light and flopped to the ground, stunned. Harry raced over to him where he was joined by Jon and Ron. Harry glanced nervously toward Azkaban but apparently the wizards guarding it didn't look outside very often; even if they did, the group was mostly obscured by the rocks forming a barrier around the beach.

"Help me get his robe off," Harry said, pulling Malfoy's unconscious form to a sitting position. They wrestled his arms out of the sleeves and slid the robe out from under him. Harry took the other phial of Polyjuice Potion from his robe, then tossed it inside Jon's Corvette. "Just in case," he said ironically, holding up the phial.

"Wait a minute," Ron said, holding up a hand. "What happens if you drink Polyjuice Potion when you're already Polyjuiced?"

Harry hadn't thought of that. "I dunno," he said, looking at Jon.

"The last potion drunk takes precedence," Jon said. "You'll turn into Malfoy, and an hour later you'll become you again. The effects don't accumulate, so you can't get more than an hour out of a dose of Polyjuice Potion in any case."

Harry nodded. Bending over, he plucked a few hairs from Malfoy's head and put them into the bottle. The potion bubbled and frothed, turning an olive drab. "Not much better than Goyle's," Harry said, looking at it in disgust. "But, down the hatch." He drained the phial and at once doubled over onto his knees as his insides began churning once again, this time more violently, it seemed, than when he turned into Goyle.

Less than a minute later, however, it was over. Harry stood again, now feeling taller and thinner than he had as Goyle. His hands were thin and pale, like Malfoy's, and when he said, "How do I look now?" the voice in his ears was Malfoy's.

"Horrible," Ron said plaintively, but he grinned. "You're the spitting image of Malfoy."

Harry shrugged into Malfoy's robe and picked up the Slytherin's hawthorn wand, which lay on the ground where it had fallen when Ron and Jon stunned him.

"Get Malfoy into the car," he said, pointing to his unconscious form. "No use hanging about in the open if we can help it. I'll be back in an hour, or less," he said, walking toward the prison. As he passed Malfoy's broom, he stopped and held his hand over it, saying, "Up!" The broom leapt up into his hand, and Harry turned and chucked it so it landed in front of the car. "Get that out of sight, too," he said, then started walking up the crooked path toward the prison.

Arriving at the front door of the prison, Harry knocked and waited nearly a minute before the door opened and the wizard with the iron-colored mullet peered out nervously at him.

"Oh, it's you again," he said, sounding irritated. "What are you back for?"

Remembering who he was supposed to be, Harry drawled arrogantly, "I need to speak to my father again."

"_Do_ you now," the wizard said shrewdly, opening the door all the way. "Well come right in, young Mr. Malfoy."

Harry walked in, trying to look around without being too obvious about it. The other wizard, the bald one, was there as well. "Forget something, did you?" he said with a twisted grin. "Forget to drop off your daddy's silk knickers or somethin?' "

Inwardly, Harry smirked, but Malfoy never could take a joke unless he was the one making it. "My father's underwear's none of your concern!" he said, trying to sound as disdainful as possible.

"Fair enough, then," the bald wizard said. He turned to the other wizard. "What d'you say, Agarn – shall we give young Mr. Malfoy a discount this time, or should he pay full price again?"

Agarn, the iron-mulleted wizard, rubbed his chin, regarding Harry through slitted eyes. "Dunno, Rourke – he doesn't seem inclined to cut us any slack, does he? Well, I'm not inclined to throw good gold after bad and cut him any in return."

Harry kept his face impassive, but if he hadn't been expecting nearly anything his jaw would have dropped at what he'd heard – these two Ministry wizards, probably ex-Aurors both – were soliciting a bribe from him, and probably had from the real Malfoy as well!

_I hope there's some gold in these robes_, Harry thought desperately. He never would have expected to have to pay to see his own relatives in Azkaban! His arms, held at his sides, pressed slightly against them, trying to discover what might be in his pockets. He felt something solid on his left side, and slid his hand in his pocket, slowly so neither wizard would be alarmed. His hand closed on a purse that felt full of coins, and he drew it out and hefted it in full view of the pair.

"What kind of discount are we talking about?" Harry said. He of course had no idea what Malfoy would have paid these men; he would just have to play it by ear and hope that what was in the purse was enough.

"What are you offering?" Rourke, the second wizard, asked baldly.

Harry, not seeing any other choice, picked a number he thought reasonable. "Twenty Galleons."

The two wizards looked at each other, then both of them chuckled as if the offer was ludicrous. "Apiece," Harry amended.

Agarn looked at Harry for a long moment. "Make it twenty-five apiece," he said at last.

"Done," Harry agreed.

"Ah, you drive a hard bargain, young Mr. Malfoy," Agarn said, strolling over to his desk. He stood there for a few moments, then gestured impatiently. "Step lively, sir. We don't have all day."

As arrogantly as he could muster, Harry walked over to the desk, still holding the purse in his left hand.

Agarn held out his hand, and Harry, looking at it blankly for a moment, started to hand him the purse. The wizard pulled his hand back. "You know the drill," he said reproachfully. "Wand first."

"So—" Harry cut himself off. It wasn't in Malfoy's nature to say he was sorry for something. He reached into his robe and produced Malfoy's wand. Agarn took it, giving it a long, wistful look before putting it in a drawer and handing Harry the small chit for receipt.

"That sure is a nice wand," he said to Harry, his eyes glittering greedily. "Now for the verification question," he said, stretching out his arm for the clipboard on the far end of his desk. Harry's stomach lurched. It was pure luck they'd asked Ron a question about his father that Harry happened to know. He'd have no chance of guessing a question about Draco Malfoy!

However, after a few moments Agarn, who didn't seem eager to put himself out very much, turned back. "But, seeing as you just answered it an hour ago, I think we'll skip it." Harry shrugged as if it didn't matter to him, but he realized then that he never would have gotten past these wizards, even as lax as their security was, if he hadn't happened to run into the real Malfoy here, and taken his wand.

"Now for the easy part of this transaction," Agarn said, a contemptuous smirk on his face as he tapped the desk in front of Harry. "Fifty Galleons, please, young Mr. Malfoy."

Harry opened the purse and emptied the contents into his hand. At first he was afraid that the purse wasn't big enough to hold fifty Galleons but amazingly, it had exactly that amount in it. Harry set the purse aside and quickly made two stacks of coins on Agarn's desk.

Rourke came over to admire the twin stacks of coins. "It's a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Malfoy," he said with a satisfied little chuckle as he picked up his stack and dropped it into his robe.

"Let's go," Agarn said to Harry. Unlocking the door leading to the prison proper, he led Harry, this time up to the fourth floor of the prison and along dark, bare corridors that were eerily silent, even for a prison. At last they came to Lucius Malfoy's cell.

"Here we are," Agarn said. "Lucius Malfoy, guilty of attempted murder, multiple batteries, bribery of Ministry officials, and a known Death Eater." He unbolted the smaller door and opened it. Malfoy's father was inside, sitting on the camp bed in the corner, looking down at the floor. "Look who's back, Lucius," he said into the opening. Malfoy looked up, and Harry nearly blanched in spite of himself.

Harry had never seen William Crabbe before, so he'd had nothing by which he could compare his former appearance. However, he _had_ seen Lucius Malfoy several times over the years, and the man who now stared at him from the barren cell bore little resemblance to the haughty, elegant face he remembered. Malfoy was haggard, his eyes sunken, his hair unkempt. He wore a growth of beard, as Sirius had, although his was comparatively shorter: he had only been in Azkaban for 18 months since their battle at the Ministry of Magic.

"What are you talking –" Malfoy's voice trailed off as he saw Harry. Agarn smiled humorlessly.

"I'll be at the staircase when you're done," Agarn said to Harry. "Mind you don't take too long this time – I've got better things to do than wait around while you and your dear old dad have a heart-to-heart." Smiling contemptuously, he walked off.

"What are you doing back here?" Malfoy demanded once Agarn was gone. "It's bad enough you continue to come here, against your mother's wishes. Must you compound your disobedience?"

"I wanted to ask you something," Harry said, trying not to stare at Malfoy's face but at a spot just above his head. He was finally just where he wanted to be – now everything depended on how well he could play on Malfoy's guilt about his son – if the elder Malfoy felt any.

"I wanted to ask about – the Helm of Gryffindor," Harry said it quickly, then held his breath for Malfoy's response.

Malfoy looked through the bars of the cell door for a long time, then sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes in annoyance and frustration. "I thought we weren't going to discuss that topic any more, Draco."

_So Draco knew_! A thrill of anticipation ran through Harry. Now if he could just find out what Malfoy's father knew and where they were keeping it, if possible. "I've changed my mind about that, Father," Harry said, trying to adopt Malfoy's drawl. "I think you should tell me everything about the Helm."

"_Do_ you?" Malfoy said, staring hard at Harry. "I suppose you think you should know where it's at?"

Harry didn't reply immediately. He could feel hostility from Malfoy, a burning resentment toward him. It was more than just an impression; it seemed as if Harry _knew_ what Malfoy was thinking – as if he, Harry, was experiencing … _Leglimency_.

He had never read a person's thoughts before; Harry had no idea if that was what he was experiencing or how he had managed it, if so. All he could do was go with the feelings he was getting from Malfoy.

"You're angry with me, Father." Harry said, and Malfoy blinked, nonplussed. "You're afraid to tell me, aren't you? Afraid that I won't be able carry on in your place, once I'm fully qualified." This was guesswork on Harry's part, but an educated guess based on Malfoy's failure to kill Dumbledore at the end of the last school year.

Malfoy stood and walked slowly over to the door. Up close, he looked even more tired and drawn; his faced was heavily lined and his hair had begun to gray at the temples. Harry could hear a slight wheeze in his breath. "Actually, Draco, I was quite proud of your efforts to please the Dark Lord and obey his commands.

"But there are forces at work here quite beyond your comprehension, and until you are ready I have no reason or desire to expose you to danger," Malfoy continued. "That is why I've refused to tell you what has been done with the Helm of Gryffindor."

"But –"

"_Draco_!" Malfoy pressed his face against the bars of the opening, his eyes wild. "I said _NO_!"

Malfoy threw himself away from the bars. Harry watched him control himself with a supreme effort, then turn back with his face almost calm again. "Trust me when I tell you, the Helm is very safe. Only you, I, and Crabbe's father know of its existence. Unfortunately, I believe Snape may know by now as well."

Harry grimaced at the mention of Snape's name. Malfoy must have misread his expression for disgust because he said, "But, Snape's usefulness will soon come to an end. Once the Dark Lord achieves his desire, we will be free to eliminate him." Malfoy smiled, and Harry almost involuntarily, found himself smiling as well. "I'm sure you're Aunt Bellatrix will be very happy to hear that, don't you think?"

Harry nodded. "I'm sure she will. Very well, Father," he said, playing along, reluctance permeating his voice. "A while longer. I wish you would reconsider, though. I do want to become more involved."

"I daresay you do," Malfoy said archly. "For now, however, your uncle Julius handles my business affairs quite capably, thank you."

Harry nodded, but Malfoy's remark had puzzled him. What did the Helm of Gryffindor have to do with Malfoy's business _or_ with his brother?

"Time for you to go, Draco," Malfoy said, settling wearily on his bed. "I need to rest. Tell your mother…" his voice faltered. "Tell your mother I miss her."

"I will," Harry said quietly. "Goodbye."

Harry walked slowly back to the staircase where Agarn waited impatiently, a timepiece in his hand. Without a word he led a subdued Harry down the steps, back to the ground floor and back into the entrance room where Harry waited, his head hung over, as the wizard retrieved his wand and took the receipt from him.

As Harry turned to go, Rourke, the other wizard called out, "Before you go, Mr. Malfoy, gotta visitor here who wants a word."

Harry turned and saw, to his horror, the flowing black robe, long greasy hair and sallow features of Severus Snape staring coldly at him, seated in front of Rourke's desk.

"Thank you, gentlemen," Snape said, rising and taking Harry by the arm in an iron grip. "Excuse us a moment while we have a word." He pulled Harry outside, slamming the large oaken door closed behind them, and put his nose barely an inch from Harry's.

"What do you mean, Draco," Snape said with barely controlled fury, "by lying to me, your Head of House, like this? You promised me you would not return here to see your father again!"

Harry, whose anger was smoldering as much as, if not more so, than Snape's, snarled in a very Malfoy-like manner, "He's my father, I'll talk to him whenever I please! And what are _you_ doing here, anyway?"

"Manners, Draco," Snape reminded him, ignoring his question. "Address me as 'Professor' or 'sir.' "

"Very well, _sir_," Harry spat, glad for once that Snape tended to give Malfoy leniency in areas no other students seemed to receive. "I'll talk to him whenever I please, _sir_!"

"We made a bargain, you and I," Snape spat. "You wanted your status back at Hogwarts – I wanted you to stop coming here and bothering your father and worrying your mother.

"That's none of your business!" Harry shouted, getting into his performance as Malfoy. "_Sir_!"

"It is _exactly_ my business," Snape countered, "when you make them targets with your recklessness. Bribing these petty bureaucrats will sooner or later bring the Ministry into things, and we are too close now for you to ruin things trying to worm your way back into your father's affections."

_Is that what _I'm_ supposed to be doing here_, Harry wondered. "Why are _you_ here, then, sir?" he asked Snape again.

"That's not your concern," Snape said testily.

Suddenly, in the same he'd known that Lucius Malfoy was resentful of his son, Harry got a flash of insight from Snape, a mental image that strongly resembled – _William Crabbe_.

It was gone almost the same moment he recognized it: Snape had erected his Occlumency barriers. Any hint of emotion in his expression had gone as well – his face was now as unreadable as his thoughts. Harry suddenly understood at that moment that if Snape read _his_ thoughts, he would realize that he was _not_ Draco Malfoy.

Though he had never successfully stopped Snape from seeing into his mind before, this time, Harry knew, he could _not_ fail. _He must not let Snape read his mind_.

Letting all emotion drain from his thoughts, Harry willed himself to believe what Snape must see – _that he was Draco Malfoy_.

They locked eyes for long seconds, staring hard at each other. Then, to Harry's immense relief, Snape – _blinked_.

"Your aunt Bella has exceeded herself," Snape said softly. "Still you hide your feelings from me, Draco." He gestured with a nod toward the path. "Very well, be on your way, then. And remember," he added in a dangerous tone. "If you continue to insist on coming here, against my and your parents' wishes, you will find the last months of your time at Hogwarts very unpleasant indeed."

"Are you threatening me?" Harry asked coldly. "_Sir_?"

"A bargain is a bargain," Snape reminded him. "Don't expect me to uphold my end if you won't uphold yours."

"I'll think it over," Harry said noncommittally. "Sir." He turned away and began walking down the path to the outbuilding at the far end.

"By the way," Snape said before Harry had gone more than ten feet. "I did not see your broom in the outbuilding when I arrived."

Harry looked back slowly. "I hid it," he said simply. He turned away again. "Sir," he added, dully, without looking back.

"I checked," Snape said. Harry turned back again. "It was _not_ in the shack."

"I didn't hide it there, sir." Harry resumed walking toward the outbuilding.

About halfway to the beach, he heard the large oaken front door of the prison open and close again. He risked a look back. Snape was gone. Harry broke into a run.

Running up to where he'd last left the car, Harry was horrified to see footprints all around where the vehicle stood, but none in a rectangular pattern that fairly screamed, "There's something invisible here!" to him.

Feeling the passenger side door, he yanked it open and jumped inside, panting. "Blimey, Harry!" Ron said. His wand was out. "I almost forgot that was you!" He grabbed Harry by the shoulder. "Snape's here!"

"I know," Harry said unsteadily. "I've just been having a row with him."

Jon reached quickly for the ignition. "Does he know who you are, Harry? Do we need to get out of here?"

"No," Harry shook his head. "I managed to convince him I was Malfoy."

"You cut it pretty close," Ron told him. "You've only got a few minutes left of your hour."

Harry rubbed his face with his hands. "Is Malfoy still unconscious?"

"Yeah," Ron said with a grin, wiggling his wand. "We've been giving him booster shots every ten minutes or so, to keep him out."

"So what happened, Harry?" Jon asked. "How did it go with Malfoy's dad?"

"Let's get going," Harry said, ignoring the question. "We've got to dump Malfoy off before we go back to school. I don't want him waking up here on Azkaban."

Jon took the car up and pointed it back toward Scotland, and soon they were streaking along at full speed. On the way back the Polyjuice Potion wore off and Harry became himself again. He avoided answering both Ron and Jon's questions about what had happened, feigning exhaustion. He did say, however, that it would be the last such attempt he'd make to talk to Malfoy, saying it was just "wild luck" that the wizards didn't ask him a verification question that he couldn't answer.

As they approached Hogwarts, Harry had Jon drop them over the wall beyond the Quidditch pitch, where the enchantment preventing flying devices from working properly was suspended. They landed and Harry had Jon drive up behind the broom shed, where they unloaded Malfoy's unconscious form (Ron giving him one final _Stupefy_ spell for good measure). Jon levitated Malfoy's unconscious body while Ron and Harry slid his robe back on; they left him propped up against the broom shed, as if he'd fallen asleep there.

"That's about all we can do," Harry said softly. "He might think it's a dream –"

"Or a nightmare," Ron put in.

"— either way, he'll have the Christmas break to sort things out before we see him again, with any luck," Harry finished.

They piled into the Corvette and returned to the Shrieking Shack, then retraced their steps back to the Whomping Willing and back to the Gryffindor common room, and from there to Harry and Ron's dormitory.

Pulling the Invisibility Cloak off them, Harry dropped it on the floor and sat down heavily on his bed.

"You all right?" Jon asked, sounding concerned.

Harry looked up at him. "No," he said in a weak voice. "I need to lie down for a while. Thanks for your help, Jon – I'll talk to you later."

"Okay," Jon said, moving to the door. "You did great today, Harry! A really fantastic job! Talk to you later." Jon left the room, closing the door behind him.

After a few moments, Ron sat down on the bed beside him. "All right," he said earnestly. "Out with it. What happened?"

Harry told him everything. The guards at Azkaban taking bribes. Using Leglimency on Malfoy and Snape, and having his Occlumency work for the first time against Snape as well. Draco knowing about his father's secret of the Helm of Gryffindor, but not knowing everything.

"Blimey," Ron said in a combination of amazement, envy, and chagrin. "I'm surprised you _aren't_ exhausted after all that, mate!"

"Things are really getting confusing, Ron," Harry said, shaking his head wearily. "If Trelawney, Bane and Firenze are right, Voldemort is going to kill me."

"Don't _say_ that!" Ron hissed, aghast at the very notion.

"What else _can_ I say, Ron?" Harry said back, extremely upset himself. "The only one who believed I could win, somehow, against Voldemort is _dead_!"

"Maybe he knew something the others didn't know," Ron suggested wildly.

"I don't know," Harry said, looking away. "All I know is, I can only really trust you, and Hermione, now."

"But we've invited Jon to the Burrow with us," Ron reminded him.

"I know," Harry said. "And I'd rather have him there, so we'll know where he is, than here or somewhere else where we can't keep an eye on him. Maybe we can find out what he and Deirdre are doing with the centaurs, and just what they mean about that 'major upheaval' both Bane and Firenze mentioned.

Harry laid back on his bed. "I really do need to catch a few winks, Ron."

Ron stood. "Okay, mate. I'll go see if I can find Hermione."

Harry nodded, then said, "Don't tell her any of this. Let me talk to her."

Ron looked vaguely unsettled, as if he'd intended to do just that, but nodded and said, "No problem. Get some rest, Harry."

Ron walked over to his trunk and rummaged through his things for a minute or so before coming up with the Mystery Vault model. He turned back to Harry. "Pleasant dreams," he said with a grin.

But Harry answered only with a snore.


	25. Home for the Holidays

Chapter 25

**HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS**

On the next day, the first day of the Christmas break, many students awoke early to prepare for the 11 a.m. trip from Hogwarts to King's Cross Station in London on the Hogwarts Express for Christmas break.

Harry awakened early himself, just before dawn. Disoriented, he tried to remember the last thing he'd thought of before going to sleep. Pushing himself up on one elbow, he realized that he'd once again gone to sleep with his clothes on. In the other beds he could hear Dean and Ron's snoring, and even without his glasses, in the dim pre-morning light, he could just discern Seamus and Neville's forms under their covers.

Harry sat up on the edge of the bed, remembering why he'd gone to sleep so early yesterday. There'd been so many things to think about that he didn't want to think about _any_ of them. Even his long sleep hadn't done much to change that, Harry reflected glumly. Getting to his feet, he padded down the stairs to the Gryffindor common room, intending to sit in solitude until the rest of the school woke up and he could get ready to take a much-needed break from school.

However, upon reaching the base of the boys' staircase, Harry saw that there was still a lone figure curled up in one of the large padded chairs near the fireplace, reading by the light of a single lamp nearby. Harry thought he recognized the top of the bushy brown head of hair; he walked slowly toward the chair until he saw that, indeed, it was Hermione Granger.

"Hermione," Harry said in a low voice. Hermione jumped, dropping the book she held in her lap and putting her hand over her heart.

"Oh!" she squeaked. "You startled me!"

"Sorry," Harry said, sitting in the chair beside her. "What are you doing up so late. Or so early, rather," he amended.

"I couldn't sleep," she said, taking up her book again and turning to the page she'd been looking at. After a few moments, however, she put it down again and looked at Harry accusingly. "I've been waiting for _you_, Harry. What do you _mean_ going off like that and then coming back and just _going to sleep_ like you'd been round to the candy store?"

"What did Ron tell you?" Harry asked warily.

"_Nothing_! He said _you_ wanted to tell me! I've been worried sick, waiting to hear what happened!"

"Look, I'm sorry," Harry said defensively. "I thought I'd fall asleep for an hour or so then be up for dinner. I didn't think I'd sleep through the entire night!"

"All right, then." Hermione shut her book and tossed it silently on a nearby table. "So spill it – what happened?" Her voice lowered until it was barely audible. "Did you find out where the Helm of Gryffindor is?"

Harry sighed. There was no help for it. He told her what he'd told Ron, though in trying to downplay some of the less heartening details the story lost much of its humor.

"So Malfoy probably knows that at least you and Ron were at Azkaban," Hermione said after Harry had finished.

"Probably," Harry conceded.

"And Snape?"

"I think I fooled him," Harry said, wondering if she'd caught the significance of what he'd achieved in that. "But only time will tell.""Time is a luxury we're in short supply of," Hermione said seriously. "We don't even know how much we have before the 'great upheaval' Bane spoke of catches up with us!"

"I know that!" With an effort, Harry tried to calm down. "But what else can we do, Hermione? Lucius Malfoy knows where the Helm is – I can feel it! But he wouldn't even tell Draco, his only son, where it was, except to say it was someplace safe. It was just dumb luck I got past those wizards at Azkaban, too. If I'd gone in there without Malfoy's wand they would have caught me for sure."

"Who did Malfoy say knew about the Helm?" Hermione asked.

"He said that only he, Draco, and Crabbe's father knew about it," Harry replied. "And he thought Snape knew as well."

"Do you think," Hermione asked shrewdly, "Any of them know it's a Horcrux?"

That question gave Harry pause. He'd been unconsciously assuming that at least Snape, as a member of the Order of the Phoenix and a master in Defense of the Dark Arts, would know. But if Snape knew, he would have told Voldemort about the ring Dumbledore destroyed. If Voldemort knew his Horcruxes were being destroyed, he would probably be a lot more aggressive in protecting them than they'd seen. Instead, however, Voldemort seemed to have actually disappeared from the face of the earth; they'd heard of no more attacks, no more deaths, since his supposed defeat.

"I don't know," Harry said finally. "Snape might, but Dumbledore didn't think Lucius Malfoy understood that Tom Riddle's diary was one; if he'd known it was a key to bringing back his master, he probably wouldn't have hidden it with Ginny's books back when we met in Flourish and Blotts.

"And from what Malfoy said to Draco, he doesn't think Draco's ready to hear about the Darkest parts of magic yet, so even if he does know of Horcruxes, he's not ready to share that with his son right now.

"And, if any of the other Death Eaters knew of Horcruxes," Harry continued. "Which Dumbledore doubted, Voldemort probably hasn't let them in on his secret, that he's created not just one, but _six_ of them to keep his soul bound to the earth."

Hermione nodded. "Those are my conclusions as well. But we have to figure out how we can use that to our advantage."

They talked until well into the morning, about the Prophecies (including the one Harry heard about Wormtail and the one Ginny heard about the "Chosen One"); about Bane and Firenze's "upheaval" in the heavens, and what Lucius Malfoy might consider a "safe place" to hide something like the Helm of Gryffindor, even if he didn't know it was a Horcrux. The cave where Harry and Dumbledore found the false Horcrux had almost been insurmountable. If Harry hadn't been along Dumbledore probably would have failed to retrieve it – Dumbledore had said so himself as well. They would have to assume that the other Horcruxes were equally well defended, with the exception of Nagini, who would naturally be with Voldemort himself.

Soon enough, however, students were coming and going through the common room, in preparation for breakfast and the trip to King's Cross. Harry and Hermione went to their separate dormitories to pack a kit for the trip; both of them, as well as Jon, had been invited to stay at the Burrow during the Christmas break.

In the Great Hall at breakfast, Harry, Ron and Jon were all piling food onto their plates, a big breakfast to last them into the evening. Each had scooped sausages and strips of bacon onto their plates along with piles of scrambled eggs as well as kippers (except for Jon, who refused to eat them). There were mounds of biscuits and pitchers of milk and pumpkin juice. Hermione and Ginny both viewed this orgy of gastronomic pleasure with trepidation and disgust.

"You're all going to blow up," Ginny said, wrinkling her nose at the three of them, "or worse, you're going to be impossible to be around tomorrow!"

"And what's your point?" Ron asked with an innocent look as he shoveled in a mouthful of eggs and washed it down with large gulps of milk.

Harry, looking toward the front of the Great Hall, noticed Tonks sitting alone on the side of the room nearest the Gryffindors, picking at her plate. Harry hadn't had many chances to talk to her during the year so far, but he was glad to see her there; she'd left so quickly after class on Friday he hadn't had a chance to talk to her.

Harry walked up to the High Table, nodding to Professor Flitwick, who was sitting several chairs away. Flitwick gave a cheery wave and Harry smiled briefly in return. "Hi, Tonks," he said.

"Wotcher, Harry," Tonks replied happily. "Ready for Christmas and the holidays?"

"Oh, yes," Harry said, with feeling. "How about you?"

"I'm ready for a break," Tonks said, "but I'll probably spend more time grading essays than opening presents."

"Well, er –" Harry looked a bit uncomfortable, but pulled a small, gift-wrapped box out of his robe. "— speaking of that – er, giving presents, that is, I – I got you something," he finished, putting the box down in front of her.

She looked at it for the longest time – so long, in fact, that Harry wondered if she would refuse it – he wasn't sure if there wasn't some sort of rule about students giving teachers gifts – but when she looked up at him her face was radiant.

"Harry!" she exclaimed, positively beaming as she picked up the box. "A present, for _me_! How thoughtful of you!"

"Thanks," Harry said, looking around surreptitiously; he hadn't quite expected her response to be so enthusiastic. Several students sitting nearby at the other tables were looking their way. "I just remembered the present you got me a couple of years ago…"

"I remember," she said, giving the box a shake. "A model of a Firebolt." She shook the box again, listening carefully.

"Um," Harry said, pointing to the box. "You can open it, if you like."

"Now?" she said, her eyebrows lifting. "What, should I spoil the surprise?" Harry shrugged noncommittally.

"You talked me into it," she said, ripping open the shining paper to reveal a small, unmarked box. Opening it, she reached in and pulled out the object inside. It was a pin, the image of a dark blue badger on a golden badge with the words "Hufflepuff Badger Patrol" engraved along the top and bottom of the badge. Tonks chuckled and looked at Harry shrewdly.

"Thank you, Harry," she said, giving him a small bow. "How did you find out I was in Hufflepuff?"

"I asked Professor McGonagall once when I was thinking about becoming an Auror," Harry replied. "Do you like it?"

"Well, yes, I do, actually," Tonks said, looking at it again. "I'm just surprised you actually found one of these."

"What d'you mean?" Harry said, confused. "I just thought you might like it because it's a Hufflepuff pin."

"Well, when I was at Hogwarts," Tonks said, sitting back and examining the pin idly as she spoke, "there was a group of girls in Hufflepuff who started calling themselves 'the Badgers,' a very exclusive little clique. Every year they'd pick two or three fourth-year girls to join their club. One of these –" she held up the pin "– was the badge they received for getting into the club."

"Oh," Harry said, disappointed. "So you've already got one, then?"

Tonks snorted laughter. "Oh, Merlin's beard, no! No, they wouldn't have the likes of me in their club. I was a bit too, well, 'unconventional' for their tastes."

"Did you want to be in the club?" Harry asked, sensing a bit of envy in Tonks' voice.

She shrugged, waving a hand airily, as if dismissing the notion. "Not really, they were all a bunch of snotty – well, witches, I'll just say. But I always did like these pins, even if I didn't care too much for any of the girls wearing them." She stood. "So thank you, Harry, for getting me one of these." She gave him a quick hug which left him a bit more breathless than he expected.

"I'd better get packing," she said, stepping away from him. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "I'm staying at the Burrow."

"Figured as much. Oh, by the way –" She turned, kicking the chair accidentally. "– Ouch! – where'd you come by this, anyway?" she winced, trying to hold up the pin and rub her bruised toe at the same time.

"Umm – you know, I don't really remember," Harry said, rubbing his chin pensively. "I've had it for a while – this just seemed like a good chance to give it to you."

"Well, thanks again," Tonks smiled at him. "If I don't see you before then, Happy Christmas, Harry," she waved goodbye and walked out the door on the east wall near the High Table.

Harry walked back toward where Hermione and Ron were sitting, but he noticed as he did so that some students at other tables were pointing toward him and whispering. One boy at the Ravenclaw table, looking at Harry, put his fist in front of his nose and twisted it in an unmistakable gesture. Even Dean, as Harry passed him at the Gryffindor table, grinned at him and gave a thumbs-up.

Harry rejoined Ron and Hermione, who leaned forward and looked at him with a strange expression on her face. "Did you just give Tonks a _present_?" she said wonderingly.

"Yeah," said Harry, trying not to sound defensive. "So?"

"Am I going to have to break the bad news to Ginny?" Ron said with mock sorrow.

"Oh, get off," Harry said, irritated. "I had a present for her for Christmas and I gave it to her. End of story."

Harry ended up enduring more ribbing about Tonks from Ron and his other Gryffindor roommates until they were aboard the Hogwarts Express and he, Ron, Hermione and Jon, who'd joined them on the platform at Hogsmeade station were in a compartment together. Jon, who hadn't been in the Great Hall when Harry had been talking to Tonks, listened to Ron retell the story while Harry listened stonily.

"Tonks is hot," Jon said, with a smile, after Ron had finished. "But from what I understand she likes older men."

"She and Remus Lupin are a couple right now," Hermione said matter-of-factly. "Most of the other students _don't know that_," she said, emphasizing the last words to Ron. "Which is why they don't know better than to give Harry a hard time for giving her a Christmas present."

Giving Jon a calculating look, Hermione said casually, "How are you and Deirdre doing, by the way, Jon?"

"Oh, fine," Jon said, leaning back against his seat and folding his arms in front of himself.

"I'm sure Ron's family could have found room for her at the Burrow if you'd asked her to come with you," Hermione added innocently.

"I did say something about that when Ron asked me," Jon replied. "But she said she wasn't ready to travel very far from home."

"What's she doing for the break?" Harry asked.

"She said she was going back to her village."

"Did she ever tell you where that was?" Ron asked. Jon shook his head.

"She's being kind of secretive about that, isn't she?" Hermione remarked.

"Yeah, she is," Jon replied candidly. "I've told her she's being a bit paranoid about it. Little Pine's only got about three thousand people in it, but she seems to think that's a pretty big town."

"Hogsmeade only has about 1500 people in it," Hermione said.

"She thinks Hogsmeade's big too," Jon said. "She must live in a _tiny_ little town."

"I saw her and Firenze talking the other day," Harry said. "They acted like they knew each other, pretty well, it looked from the way they were talking."

"Really? What were they talking about?" Jon asked. Harry noticed Jon was looking directly at him, making eye contact and acting as if he were concentrating hard on what Harry was saying. Was Jon trying to use Leglimency on him?

Letting his emotions drain away, Harry lied, "Oh, nothing, really, just making small talk about her Divination class. She's taking Professor Trelawney's class."

If Jon sensed any contradiction between his words and feelings, he gave nothing away; he simply nodded, saying nothing. Hermione and Ron, sensing a change in Harry's attitude, veered off into other subjects such as the last Vault Tournament round and the N.E.W.T. studies, which would intensify when they returned to school in January.

The trip passed uneventfully until they arrived at King's Cross in the early evening just as the sun was beginning to set. Mr. Weasley had arranged for a car, and he and Mrs. Weasley were waiting on Platform 9 ¾ when the Hogwarts Express pulled in.

As Harry stepped off the train, however, following Jon, Ron and Hermione, he was pushed roughly from behind and nearly fell. Catching himself, he turned around to see Draco Malfoy glaring furiously at him. Crabbe and Goyle stepped off the train behind him.

"Think you're clever, don't you, Potter," Malfoy said in a threatening tone. "Well you're _not_. Whatever you think you've gained, you've bought yourself a load of trouble to go along with it."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Malfoy," Harry said scathingly, admitting nothing. But he couldn't resist adding, "Seems like you're the one who's bought some trouble – if you go around breaking agreements with your head of House and bribing officials, you're just asking for it."

"_Liar_!" Malfoy hissed, stepping forward, but stopping as Mr. and Mrs. Weasley came hurrying up behind Harry and the others.

Seeing that reinforcements had arrived, Malfoy said, "We'll just _see_ _who's_ asking for it when we get back to school, Potter." He stalked away, followed by Crabbe and Goyle, and disappeared through the barrier.

"What was that all about?" Mr. Weasley said, looking after them with some concern.

Harry said nothing. Ron turned with a grin and said to his father, "Oh, Malfoy just hasn't been himself lately, is all."

With Malfoy and his thugs gone, Mrs. Weasley greeted Ron, Ginny, Harry and Hermione with welcoming hugs. "And this is Jonathan Crown," Harry said, introducing him to the Weasleys.

"Hello, dear," Mrs. Weasley said, shaking his hand warmly. "I remember we met in Diagon Alley before school started."

"A pleasure to meet you, Jonathan," Mr. Weasley said, shaking his hand. "I've been told you have a keen interest in Muggle automobiles," he said eagerly.

"Yes, sir," Jon said. "As a matter of fact I have one at –" Ron, standing behind his father, was shaking his head and mouthing the words _at home_ "– at home," Jon continued, changing direction in mid-sentence, "where we can drive them legally. Out of the view of Muggles, of course."

They got everyone's bags stowed away in the cavernous boot of the Ministry automobile and everyone scrambled inside. Even though the car looked barely big enough to accommodate four comfortably, like Jon's Corvette its outside was not a fair indicator of the amount of room there was inside. The bench seat in the back was like an enormous sofa; it almost seemed to expand to fit the entire group comfortably.

The drive from King's Cross to the Burrow occurred without incident. Everyone lined up behind the Ministry vehicle as Mr. Weasley and the driver handed them their bags. Harry and Ron walked up behind Jon as he looked at the Burrow in apparent awe.

"Pretty neat, huh?" Ron said as they walked past him into the kitchen door. Jon nodded absently, still looking at the assortment of gables, window, chimneys and other oddities poking out from the four sides of the house in interesting ways. "Come on, it gets better inside."

"Jon, dear," Mrs. Weasley said, following them into the house. "I've made you a bed in Fred and George's room. You'll find it on the second floor; Ron will show you where it's at."

"Come on, we'll give you the tour," Ron said, urging Jon to follow him and Harry up the narrow staircase. Even if he, Harry, wasn't too keen on Jon at the moment, Harry thought, Ron was being more the gracious host now that he was back home.

They dropped Jon's bag off in Fred and George's old room; except for the newly-made bed, it had changed very little in the nearly four months since they'd last been here – the boxes were still piled carelessly on top of one another on one side of the room.

"I'll have dinner ready in a few minutes," Mrs. Weasley's voice came up the staircase from the kitchen. "Mind you're ready to eat then."

"You know, I _am_ getting hungry," Ron said, rubbing his stomach. "But even when we got off the train, I didn't think I could eat another bite today."

"Yeah, that's weird, isn't it?" Harry agreed. "I'm hungry too, now that your mum mentioned eating."

"I am too," Jon concurred. They walked over to the staircase, where Hermione and Ginny were coming down from putting their bags away in Ginny's room.

"Right. We'd better get washed up, she'll be sure to ask us, after that train ride. Oh," Ron said, turning to Jon. "Mind that you don't tell Dad too much about your car. We used to have an old Ford Anglia some years ago that he enchanted to fly, but me and Harry accidentally flew it into the Whomping Willow in our second year, and it went missing in the Forbidden Forest."

"Really?" Jon said, looking surprised and amused. "Are you kidding me?"

"Dead serious," Harry said.

"Dad's mad for all things Muggle, even though not so much these last few years. He's even got part of his old plug collection around here somewhere."

"A _what_ collection?" Jon asked, not sure if he heard right.

"Plugs," Ron repeated. "For using eckletricity –"

"Electricity," Hermione corrected him.

"– or some other such rubbish," Ron finished. "Anyway, don't mention your car around him or Mum."

"N. S. F. G.," Jon said, with a sly smile. At their blank stare he added, "Not suitable for grownups."

"Right in one," Ginny said emphatically. "Dad'll want to talk your ear off about it, but Mum always hated that old car of his. She was glad you flew it off and lost it, even if Dad did have an inquiry over it."

Ron looked at her, completely nonplussed. "Could'a fooled me," he grumbled. "She nearly took my ears off with the Howler she sent me."

"I remember it," Ginny grinned.

Mrs. Weasley yelled upstairs at them again, and they all went down to dinner in the cramped little kitchen. She had fixed onion soup with thick slices of bread and had put out ham and cheese to make sandwiches with, along with glasses of pumpkin juice to wash it all down with. Harry ate with gusto – it had been a long time since he'd last tasted Mrs. Weasley's cooking, and even Hogwarts meals, as filling as they were, couldn't compare with the sense of family one got sitting around the scrubbed wooden table enjoying meals with one another. Halfway through, Fred and George showed up to welcome them home, and the Weasley kitchen was filled, happily, to near bursting.

After dinner they retired into the living room where Fred and George regaled the family with stories from their shop – how Verity had caught a group of boys who'd managed to lock themselves into one of George's Dwarf Wardrobes, a new item of theirs that looked like a small bedside cabinet but was large as a regular closet inside. The boys had apparently revived a pastime of seeing how many of them could fit inside at once.

"Our new stuff's practically flying off the shelves," Fred said proudly. "The Mystery Vault model in particular. I'm glad now Ron wanted us to make him one – it's turned into quite a money spinner."

"So what's my commission?" Ron asked, between sips of hot spiced cider Mrs. Weasley had made for everyone.

"We're arranging to have the patent in your name," George told him, with a wink toward Harry as he said it.

Mr. Weasley also had a few interesting stories – it seemed as if, whether in good times or bad, unscrupulous wizards would try to make a Galleon or two selling fraudulent charms and amulets. When the Wizarding wireless announced the beginning of Celestina Warbeck's program, however, Mrs. Weasley shushed them all into silence. For some time there was nothing but her soft, sensual songs heard in the Weasley house.

During one of the commercial breaks, Fred emptied his glass of cider, smacked his lips, and came to his feet. "Anyone need a refill?" he asked. "I'm buying."

George's glass was empty as well. "Me too." He glanced significantly at Harry, then at the kitchen. Harry took the hint.

"Me, too," he said, following them.

Once in the kitchen, under cover of pouring their drinks, Fred said, "We're a bit surprised to see Jon with you, Harry."

"Ron wrote us an owl after the last round of the Vault Tournament," George said quietly, making sure they weren't overheard in the living room. "He said you were having some second thoughts about how he and the other exchange student, Deirdre Recaunt, are acting regarding what you heard from Bane."

"Yeah," Harry said, just as quietly, not happy to be reminded of that just now. "I've still got to sort all that stuff out."

"We've got to get to the bottom of that as well," Fred said. "We're not letting anything happen to you if we've got anything to say about it, Harry," he said with fierce determination. George nodded, equally determined.

Harry felt a surge of gratitude for their loyalty. "Thanks, guys. I really appreciate it."

"You're not drinking all the cider in there, are you?" Mrs. Weasley asked, shrilly, from the living room.

"No, mum," Fred shouted back, refilling his mug. They went back into the living room to listen to the rest of Celestina Warbeck's sultry, magical sounds.

Harry awoke tired on Christmas morning, feeling not at all as if he'd just spent the last eight hours in bed. The last few days had passed quickly – helping Ron and Ginny decorate the Burrow's living room, walking up and down Diagon Alley finding presents for all of his friends, and in the process, helping nearly all of them with hints for what to get him.

Now, sitting up slowly to find a stocking full of presents lying across the foot of his bed, just like the year before. He fervently hoped Christmas this year would be an improvement over the last few. Two years before, he recalled, he'd spent Christmas at St. Mungo's with the Weasley family after Mr. Weasley was bitten by Voldemort's snake, Nagini, after she had been discovered trying to get into the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry of Magic. That had also been the last Christmas (although Harry hadn't known it then, of course), that he was to spend with his godfather Sirius Black, who was killed the following year by Sirius's cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange.

Last year, Harry'd had to deal with Mrs. Weasley's and Fleur Delacour's power struggle over her impending marriage to Bill Weasley. Harry also remembered his own power struggle with Rufus Scrimgeour, the then-new Minster of Magic, over the Ministry's abuse of its power and attempts to manipulate Harry into helping them deceive the Wizarding world about Voldemort.

"Happy Christmas," Harry heard Ron say, and he looked over to see Ron smiling cheerfully at him while popping a Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Bean into his mouth. "Want one?" he asked, offering Harry the bag.

Harry took one, hoping for chocolate or peppermint; instead, it was spinach. He grimaced and started pulling presents from his sock. In it he found a red-and-gold sweater with the numbers "17" knitted across the back, obviously from Mrs. Weasley. From Ron he found a box of Chocolate Cauldrons. Harry smiled and held them up for Ron to see. "D'you want to have a go at these now or shall I wait for someone to put _Amortentia_ in them?"

Ron threw an Every Flavor bean at him. There were other small presents in the stocking from Mrs. Weasley, Fred and George, and a few Christmas Crackers, which he and Ron pulled apart to reveal floating balloons and Chocolate Frogs.

"Not much of a take this year," Ron said, mildly disappointed, after the last Chocolate Frog had been consumed. He looked askance at Harry. "How do you think this thing of Jon's is going to work?" he wondered aloud.

"I don't know," Harry shook his head. Sometime in the last two days Mrs. Weasley had asked Jon how they did Christmas in America. Jon had told her that he and his uncles and some friends gathered around their Christmas tree after Christmas dinner and passed out presents. Mrs. Weasley, liking the idea and wanting Jon to feel welcome at the Burrow, decided they would follow the same idea this year.

So now the Christmas tree in the Burrow's living room was stacked roundabout with heaps of presents from the Weasleys, Harry and Hermione, Bill and Fleur, and Jon as well, who'd deposited quite a few under the tree. "It'll be interesting," Harry added, groaning as he swung his legs out of his camp bed and onto the cold floor.

"It's going to be a mess," Ron predicted, looking at the floor of his room, on which there was now a substantial amount of paper wrappers, ribbons, and Christmas Cracker confetti. If he told the truth, however, Harry didn't mind the mess – while he lived at the Dursleys, Harry had spent the majority of every Christmas watching Dudley open dozens of presents while Harry was given the chore of cleaning up the wrappings. The most they'd ever given him for Christmas was a fifty-pence piece, which he'd immediately given to Ron as an impromptu Christmas present.

Downstairs, Mrs. Weasley was fixing breakfast for a yawning Mr. Weasley, who'd roused himself after a long day at the Ministry and a short night's sleep to join in the festivities. "Happy Christmas!" he greeted them exuberantly as they came into the kitchen. "How were your presents this morning?"

"Great," Ron said, throwing himself into a chair.

"Don't flop down like that, Ronald," Mrs. Weasley said warningly without turning around.

"Very nice," Harry said to both the Weasleys. "Thank you."

"You're quite welcome, Harry," Mr. Weasley said, stifling a yawn.

"We're glad you're here again this year, dear," Mrs. Weasley said. She was now tipping sausages from a skillet onto Mr. Weasley's plate. She fished her wand out of her apron and waved it at the cabinet, which opened and disgorged two plates that soared over and landed in front of Harry and Ron. She tipped sausages onto Harry and Ron's plates and then did the same with a panful of eggs.

"Are you looking forward to more presents after dinner?" she asked, beaming, as she poured pumpkin juice for Harry and Ron.

"Yes," Harry said, then kicked Ron in the ankle when he didn't respond right away.

"Yes, Mum," Ron said automatically.

"Good!" Mrs. Weasley smiled broadly. "I think it'll be very interesting!" At that moment Ginny and Hermione appeared, looking sleepy, in pajamas and housecoats. "Happy Christmas, dears!" They both mumbled the same greeting to her and Mr. Weasley. Mrs. Weasley looked searchingly at the staircase. "Ah, where's our last houseguest?" she wondered, looking at Harry and Ron. "Did either of you look in on him?"

"I heard him snoring," Ron said blandly. "In fact, I think he woke the ghoul in the attic, he was snoring so loud." Both Ginny and Hermione smiled under their hands.

"I wondered what that sound was when I came in last night," Mr. Weasley said suddenly. "I thought the wind was about to blow some of the shingles off the roof." Harry and Ron both laughed.

"Oh shush, Arthur," Mrs. Weasley said sternly, but with a half-smile on her lips. "It wasn't that loud, really."

Jon slouched into the kitchen just then, covering a yawn and said, "Good morning," blinking in the sunlight coming in through the windows.

"Happy Christmas, dear," Mrs. Weasley said. "Would you like some breakfast too?"

"Yes, please," Jon said, sliding into the last empty chair, next to Hermione. That side of the table scooted over to make room for him.

"The ghoul in the attic didn't keep you awake last night, did he?" Mrs. Weasley asked, tipping first sausages then eggs onto Jon's plate.

"Oh, is that what that was?" Jon said, looking in Ron's direction. "I was beginning to wonder why Ron was being so clumsy."

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley chuckled, but no one else did. Ron turned to Harry and rolled his eyes so only Harry could see. Harry's concerns about Jon's loyalties had been discretely discussed for the past few days, out of Jon and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's hearing, of course. Harry still had no clear idea _why_ he disliked Jon's whispered conversation with Deirdre Recaunt at the eighth Round of the Vault Tournament, but it certainly seemed as if nothing good would come of it.

The house began to fill in preparation for Christmas dinner. Bill and Fleur arrived from Shell Cottage. Bill, as always, was smiling and cheerful despite the deep scars still on his face from Fenrir Greyback's attack, and Fleur was radiant in a full-length dress that complemented her long, silvery hair. Fred and George arrived, accompanied surprisingly by their assistant Verity, whom they said they had invited along so she could have a "good, old-fashioned Christmas dinner just like Mum still makes."

With the extra people, the kitchen was too small for Christmas dinner, so Mr. Weasley, Fred and George set about preparing the living room. They moved most of the furniture against the walls and reduced its size so there was more floor space, then elongated the scrubbed table to nearly the length of the living room. Fred also drew up a few extra chairs for the table; they didn't quite match the originals, but it wouldn't matter since they would be vanished again after Christmas dinner was over.

Fleur produced an extra long tablecloth, a rather frilly, embroidered one that Harry thought looked out of place in the Burrow, and draped it over the table, after which Ginny brought the plates and silverware in from the kitchen, and Hermione, waving her wand, set the places.

Mrs. Weasley had prepared roasted Christmas turkey and ham, bowls of mashed potatoes, peas, corn and carrots from the Burrow's garden, and had whipped up gravies and sauces for ladling on the turkey and potatoes. There were plates of biscuits, rolls and thick slices of bread, with creamy butter, jellies and jams for condiments. Even though by now used to Mrs. Weasley's wonderful cooking, Harry hardly knew where to begin. He filled his plate with generous portions as the food was passed along to him, his mouth watering in anticipation of the succulent meal.

Verity, sitting directly across from Harry, next to Fred, was impressed as well. "I don't think I've seen this much food at one time since I was at Hogwarts," she said, gazing hungrily over the victuals set before her.

"Neither have I, come to think of it," Fred said. "You've really outdone yourself this time, Mum," he said, looking at his mother in admiration.

"Why, thank you, Fred dear," Mrs. Weasley said, blushing slightly.

"Yes, Molly," Mr. Weasley concurred. "Everything is simply scrumptious."

Verity, blinking, looked at Harry. She mouthed "scrumptious?" to Harry with a raised eyebrow, and Harry gave a small shrug as if to say, that's Mr. Weasley.

"How are things going at the Ministry these days, Dad?" Bill, sitting next to his father at the head of the table, asked.

"Still busy," Mr. Weasley said, sighing deeply. "A lot of fake protective amulets and bracelets are still turning up. Unfortunately, we're finding a lot of folks have bought stuff, and when they discover it doesn't work properly, they don't think to dispose of it properly and younger children are finding them and hexing or cursing themselves."

"Oh, how 'orrible!" Fleur gasped in shock.

Mr. Weasley nodded in grim agreement. "We've had three children sent to St. Mungo's in the last month alone. I suspect they've been searching for Christmas presents and came across the fake items instead. The Ministry is preparing a pamphlet to distribute to the Wizarding community to raise awareness of the danger."

"Have you seen Percy at the Ministry lately?" Bill asked, carefully casual.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley exchanged a glance before he shrugged and said, "Not lately. Whatever he's been up to for Scrimgeour, it's been very hush-hush. I haven't even passed him in the corridors in months."

"Percy should have come round to apologize months ago," Fred said loudly, scowling at his father in indignation. "Especially after Scrimgeour promoted Dad and Fudge left the Ministry."

"Well, he hasn't," Mr. Weasley said, sounding sad. "It's his choice."

"It's rubbish," Fred and George said at the same time.

"Bill," Ron piped up, more to change the subject than anything. "When will the Vault Tournament start up again next year?"

Bill shrugged. "It's up to Artag. I'm beginning to wonder if it _will_ resume next year – we're not getting many contestants. They're all afraid of being cursed."

"They _can't_ close it down!" Ron said in a stricken tone.

"Why?"

When Ron looked a bit shifty about answering, Fred spoke up. "Our ickle Ronnie is trying to work out how to open it himself."

Everyone looked at Ron. "Well?" he said, looking back at them as if daring anyone to laugh. "_Someone's_ got to open it, eventually. Nothing says it can't be me."

"Of course not!" Fleur said, looking at him with admiration. "Ronald, you should always pursue your dreams, yes?"

Ron was beaming at this unexpected praise from Fleur. Hermione, looking irked by his reaction to her comment, turned and said something under her breath to Jon, who chuckled. Annoyed, Harry glared at her until she glanced his way then gave her a "What are you doing talking to _him_ about Ron?" look. Hermione frowned and stopped talking to Jon, but she wouldn't look Harry's way again.

After dinner, when the table had been cleared of food, Ginny was chosen to begin handing out presents. Harry got several more, including one from Jon, which he opened first, wanting to get it out of the way. To his surprise, however, he found that Jon had not given him a cheap or gag gift, but a penknife with several blades and other utensils in it, set with polished oak handles. There was a note with the knife, which Harry opened and read,

_Harry,  
__I hope you'll find this penknife useful. I was intrigued by your story about the penknife your godfather  
Sirius gave you that could unlock any lock or undo any knot. I spent some time this fall researching the  
magic for such an item and came up with what you're holding now. Merry Christmas to you!  
__Sincerely,  
__Jon Crown_

Harry had determined not to like whatever Jon gave him, but he admitted a certain grudging admiration for someone who went to the trouble Jon had gone through to make this for him.

There was a squeal across the table and Harry looked up to see Hermione eagerly regarding a book she had just unwrapped. "Oh! I've been wanting to get this for the longest time!" she said, showing the book to Ginny. Harry glanced quickly over at Ron; he was watching, stone-faced, as Hermione turned back to Jon and thanked him, almost gushingly, Harry thought. The present-opening went on for some time, but Harry had lost any enthusiasm for it. He was beginning to feel, despite the gift Jon had given him, that the American had a very different agenda than Harry did.

Soon Bill and Fleur were saying their farewells. Fred and George had already left to work on "some project," and Mr. Weasley had cornered Jon once more to ask about American Muggles. Harry, Ron and Hermione all said they were heading off to bed, and Ginny followed suit.

But as soon as they had gone up the stairs, Ginny and Hermione slipped up to Ron's room. Making sure Ron's door was shut, Hermione took out her wand, pointed it at the door and said, "_Imperturbatus_," making it impossible to hear conversations through the door.

"Alright, Harry," she said, putting away her wand. "What's your problem?"

"_My_ problem?" Harry said indignantly. "_You're_ the one who's still being chummy with that Yank!"

"I'm being _polite_, not _chummy_," Hermione retorted. "And if you didn't want him here, why did you invite him, anyway?"

"I invited him before we knew something was up with him and Deirdre," Ron snapped. He was still irritated at her, Harry guessed, because she'd gotten Jon a present.

"You're blowing this _way_ out of proportion, Harry," Hermione said, ignoring Ron's comment. "You said that you followed _Deirdre_ to Eeylops, not Jon. He was with us back at the Vault Tournament the entire time."

"They've been chummy as well," Harry shot back. "And she seemed a lot less afraid of Bane than any normal person would be, considering how he acted the last time we saw him in the Forbidden Forest."

"I've been talking to him as well," Ginny put in, "and I haven't seen him do _anything_ suspicious. It seems like you're accusing him because of the conversation you listened in on between Bane and Deirdre."

"Their village _knows_ the centaurs, remember?" Hermione pointed out. "She's admitted that!"

"And _that_ sounds pretty dodgy to me right there," Harry said. "Bane told her that 'the Vows,' whatever _they_ are, were broken by Firenze when he came to teach at Hogwarts. If centaurs didn't interact with humans, what's up with that village they're supposed to visit all the time, according to Deirdre? Why would centaurs visit a small human village regularly, _unless_ they were involved in something together?"

An idea tickled the back of Harry's brain, and he went with it. "Suppose," he said, "that a group of _Death Eaters_ were in that village, and that the centaurs were negotiating with them, since they've supposedly read the signs of Voldemort achieving his goal in the heavens?"

Ron's eyes had gone wide. "Like what Hagrid told us about the giants, when he and Madam Maxime went to visit them, after You-Know-Who came back! They had Death Eaters visiting them, too, right after Hagrid and Maxime got kicked out of the giants' camp."

"Are you saying," Hermione asked carefully, "that you think Deirdre or Jon are _Death Eaters_?" She and Ginny both looked deeply skeptical of this idea.

Harry shook his head. "No, I'm saying they might know of some in Deirdre's village.

They broke up to go to bed for real. Harry wasn't really pleased with Hermione; she still felt she was being loyal to him and merely polite with Jon. He would have to keep pressing her to stay away from Jon; he didn't want Jon to learn anything that could compromise their search for Voldemort's Horcruxes.

Harry dreamed that night that he and Professor Dumbledore were playing Exploding Snap against Ron and Snape. Ron kept telling Snape what cards he was holding, and Snape kept winning. Harry kept protesting but Dumbledore just kept saying, "Well, remember, Harry – Professor Snape is still on our side, even if you think he's not." Snape just smiled maliciously whenever Dumbledore said that, as if he and Harry both knew the truth but there was nothing Harry could do about it.

Harry began to yell at Dumbledore, saying how foolish he was to believe Snape, when he found himself sitting bolt upright in bed in Ron's room. Blinking sleepily, he looked around. Ron wasn't in his bed, and Harry couldn't hear or see anyone else in the room. _Where's Ron_, he wondered, but just at that moment he heard the toilet downstairs flush. Satisfied, Harry laid back and was asleep almost as his head touched the pillow.


	26. The Ministry Strikes Back

Chapter 26

**THE MINISTRY STRIKES BACK**

The rest of the holidays at the Burrow were subdued. Ginny, in defiance of Harry's decision to cut Jon out of the group, had taken to hanging out with him during the day while Harry and Hermione listened to Ron's eager description of Arthur Weasley's journal.

Arthur's uncle Archie had been quite a wizard in Arthur's estimation, it turned out. Mr. Weasley's journal was packed with descriptions of the various gadgets and trinkets his uncle had built over the years. Even Hermione, annoyed that Jon was excluded from their conversations, was impressed at some of his accomplishments as Ron read about them from the journal.

What Harry really wanted to talk about, although he dared not do so with either Ron or Hermione, was Ginny. Her refusal to understand his reluctance to confide in someone who could be a Death Eater, or at least consorted with them, felt like a betrayal. Ginny tended to defend the underdog; she'd stood up for both Neville and Luna when they were bullied at school, and she would fiercely defend Harry (and herself!) whenever Malfoy or his cronies started any nastiness. But Jon was hardly an underdog. Beyond being an American and therefore a bit set apart in the first place, he was just as smart (and perhaps smarter) than even Hermione.

"If you told Ginny not to talk to Jon," Ron prompted him, "she'd come round."

But Harry wouldn't talk to her. "She knows what I think," he said stubbornly. "I'm not going to keep repeating myself."

Ron, however, had no problem doing so. Harry heard them one night when he'd gone to the kitchen for a drink. They were whispering furiously just outside the back door: Ron pointing out her lack of loyalty in siding with Jon, and Ginny insisting that Harry and Ron didn't know everything about what was going on. What that was, exactly, Harry never heard, because she suddenly yanked open the back door and stormed inside, giving Harry a dirty look on the way to her room. Ron came inside a few seconds later, staring after her. "She's gone mental," he said, seeing Harry. "Thinks we're not seeing both sides of the situation."

"Maybe we aren't," Harry said. He knew how much Ginny cared for him. To see her this passionate about Jon's side of the story almost made him want to reconsider his decision. But until he knew _for sure_ what was going on with Jon and Deirdre, though, he couldn't risk it.

The situation became moot that Saturday morning, however, when Harry and Ron came downstairs to find Ginny and Hermione already having breakfast. "Good morning, dears," Mrs. Weasley said, bustling around the kitchen to get them some porridge as well.

"Morning," Harry said, stifling a yawn, and Ron merely grunted. Today was the last free day of Christmas break: tomorrow, they would board the Hogwarts Express to return to school for the spring term, and to a lot more homework in preparation for N.E.W.T.s later in the year.

"Did you both sleep well?" Mrs. Weasley inquired. Harry and Ron both nodded curtly. "Good!" she continued brightly. "I have just a couple of things for you to help me with this morning, before you get on with your day."

Ron and Ginny groaned. "Mum," Ginny said plaintively, "It's our _last day_ before we go back to school."

"Exactly why I need your help today, then," Mrs. Weasley said reasonably. "Don't worry, we'll be done by lunch." To Harry and Hermione she said, "Dears, you won't need to help, of course – Ron and Ginny and I will manage."

"Oh, I'd like to help," Hermione said quickly, and Harry nodded agreement as well.

"Splendid!" Mrs. Weasley said bracingly. "The five of us should be done in no time!"

Ron, scowling, glanced at the empty chair between Ginny and Hermione and asked, "Where's Jon?"

Ginny and Hermione looked at each other. "Gone," Ginny said, biting into a piece of toast.

"_Gone_?" Harry repeated, coming instantly alert. "What d'you mean, 'gone?' "

Mrs. Weasley finished preparing plates of toast for Harry and Ron and set them in front of each of them. "He came down this morning with his bag and said he had to go back to Hogwarts a day early – he had a few things to do before start of term."

Harry and Ron looked at each other, nonplussed. "How'd he get back?" Ron asked his mother. "Did he use the Floo Network?"  
"You know they're not doing that this year, dear," Mrs. Weasley reminded him, "since you can travel on the Hogwarts Express for your first day on Monday."

"He's seventeen, you know," Hermione added. "He might have Apparated."

"Yeah, but does he have an Apparition license?" Ron asked pointedly.

"In America, they can get an Apparition license at _sixteen_ after taking a course," Ginny said.

"But we're _not in America_, remember?" Ron retorted. "I think you need a Ministry-issued Apparition license to legally Apparate in this country."

"Alright," Mrs. Weasley snapped, her patience wearing thin. "Enough of the legal discussion – eat your porridge, we've got things to do," bringing the argument to a close.

After breakfast Mrs. Weasley divided them into pairs, giving Ginny and Hermione the task of helping her straighten up the living room and kitchen, while Harry and Ron moved all the boxes still in Fred and George's room to the attic.

"Enough of that!" she said sternly as Ron groaned about having to go into the attic again. "You can levitate boxes just as easily as anyone – just mind you don't make a mess in the attic spilling things!"

Grumbling a bit later, out of his mother's hearing, Ron trudged up the staircase to Fred and George's room, followed by Harry, where they each levitated several boxes up to the landing where the stairs led up to the attic door.

"I don't know why we always get these jobs," Ron grumbled, unlocking the attic door with his wand.

"Would you rather be downstairs dusting and sweeping and mopping?" Harry wanted to know.

"Of course not," Ron said with a snort. "But I'd at least like to have the choice!"

They levitated the boxes up the staircase and into a stack next to some old, dusty stacks of boxes they'd pushed together, unchecked, last summer. The ghoul, predictably, growled at them then retreated to the furthest corner to wait for them to leave.

Harry and Ron ran down the stairs, back to Fred and George's room, and repeated the procedure. It got to be great fun as they both attempted to levitate more boxes than the other, and for one to drop his boxes on top of the first as the other set them into place on the floor next to the other boxes.

They had almost finished when both Harry and Ron tried to set their last load of boxes into the same spot, causing them to run into each other and the boxes next to them. Like a row of dominoes toppled by a careless finger, the stacks of boxes crashed into each other, tipping them all over, including the old set at the end; the topmost box slid of and landed on the attic floor with a resounding _THUD_.

"Is everything all right up there?" Mrs. Weasley immediately called out from downstairs.

"Everything's fine, Mum!" Ron yelled. "A box just fell over!" To Harry he said, shaking his head, "I don't even know how she could have _heard_ that – she must have an Extendable Ear on us or something!"

"Should be simple enough to straighten these out, anyway," Harry said. He pointed his wand to the first fallen stack, saying "_Derigus_!" The stack of boxes immediately righted itself. Ron repeated the spell on the next boxes, and they continued until only the overturned box remained.

Its contents had spilled onto the floor, and Ron and Harry bent over the contents, scooping them up and dropping them back into the box. As one item fell in, however, it caught Ron's eye and he reached in and fished it out again.

"Hello," he said, interestedly. "What's this? Harry, check this out!" Ron said, holding it out to show to him.

Harry looked at the envelope. The address on it read:

_Mr. Arthur Weasley  
The Burrow  
Ottery St. Catchpole  
Devon_

"It's never been opened," Ron observed, pointing to the seal.

"This is addressed to your father," Harry said. "Are you going to bring it downstairs to give to him tonight?" He could guess what Ron was going to say about that idea.

"Well, I probably should," Ron mused, hefting the envelope thoughtfully. "But the seal might've broken open when it fell out of the box, and its contents spilled out on the floor. While looking in another direction, he pointed his wand at the seal and said, softly, "_Diffindo_!" The seal of the envelope split open, and Ron shook its contents into his hand.

What slid out of the envelope was a journal book, and a small, square object. Ron immediately seized the object. "Look at this, Harry!"

Harry looked down at it. It looked like a toy he'd seen Muggles playing with at primary school in Little Whinging: a small square filled with tiles that could be moved side-to-side and up and down into the one open space left in the four-by-four rows. The ones he had seen had most often had tiles with numbers one through fifteen on them, though a few, like this one, had lines that had to be arranged into a picture.

"Blimey!" Ron stared at the square in fascination. "You know what this reminds me of?"

"The moving tiles on the Mystery Vault," Harry said, nodding. It was easy to see why Ron was so excited by this. Ron handed the square to Harry and opened the journal.

"And _this_!" Ron said excitedly, now waving the book in front of Harry's face. "You're not going to _believe_ what this is!"

"What?"

Holding the book open, Ron pointed to the name printed on the title page under the legend:

This Journal belongs to:  
_Archimedes L. Weasley_

" 'Archimedes?' " Harry repeated, reading the name. "Is that your Uncle Archie?"

"Think so," Ron said, examining the name again closely. "Dad always thought his name was 'Archibald,' but I doubt it could be anyone else."

"I wonder why your father never mentioned this?" Harry pondered, looking at his name on the envelope. "He obviously liked Uncle Archie very much."

"Maybe he didn't know what was in the envelope, Harry," Ron said. "He never did open it, after all."

"I wonder what your dad'll say about it when we show it to him?"

"I'm not going to show it to him," Ron said at once. Then, at the astonished look on Harry's face, he added, "At least, not until I've had a chance to read it myself, first."

"Why _wouldn't_ you show it to him?" Harry blurted out.

Ron frowned, as if he was thinking furiously of a reason to explain why he'd hide such a discovery from his own father. "I – I guess I just want a chance to see what this Uncle Archie's got to say before I hand it over to Dad. For all I know he may not want me to read it. You remember Mum and Dad didn't really want to talk much about him."

"Yes," Harry agreed slowly. "They seemed upset when you brought his name up. I'm just … surprised, I s'pose, that you wouldn't want your dad to know about this, Ron."

"I didn't say I would _never_ tell him, Harry," Ron argued. "I just don't want to tell him straightaway before I've had a chance to read this for myself." He waved the journal in front of him. As he did so, a smaller envelope slid out of its pages and dropped to the floor. Ron bent over to pick it up.

It was an unusual envelope, Harry saw, as Ron examined it; the material felt thinner but stronger than normal parchment. There was no seal; it had evidently fallen off. Removing the single page from it, Ron stared at it for several seconds, then showed it to Harry, who saw nothing but several lines of what looked like random markings which were only otherwise notable for being in neat, orderly rows.

"No idea," Ron muttered at last, replacing the page in the envelope and putting it back in the book.

"So anyway," Harry pressed, trying to get Ron to reconsider. "When do you think you _will_ tell your dad about this?"

"Harry, just let me handle this, okay?" Ron said shortly.

Harry wanted to say more, but abruptly decided to leave it alone. After all, what could it hurt if Ron wanted to read his great-uncle's journal before his father did? It's not as if Mr. Weasley was missing the journal in the first place. He and Ron put the top back on the box he'd opened and went back downstairs, after locking the attic door behind them.

After finishing the rest of the chores Mrs. Weasley had for him, Ron spent the rest of the afternoon and most of the evening in his room reading his great-Uncle Archie's journal. Harry had never seen Ron study a book so intently since he'd let him read the Chudley Cannons book Ron gave him for Christmas during their second year at Hogwarts.

"It's a pretty amazing read, Harry," Ron told him late that night, even after Harry had complained, for the fifth time, that he wanted to go to sleep. He'd spent the day offering to do Ron's chores for Mrs. Weasley, and she had nearly worn him out insisting that they should get Ron to look after his own work himself.

"I can see why Dad was crazy for this guy," Ron said, ignoring Harry's protests about the lights and going to sleep. "He loved Muggles more than Dad did, if that's even possible. Read all about the great ones in history. He was even proud to be named after one – his name is from an ancient Greek Muggle named –"

"Archimedes," Harry said tiredly. Ron had only mentioned it about a half-dozen times so far that evening.

"– who lived in Greece about the time of Mopsus the Soothsayer, in the city-state of Syracuse. He was –"

"Ron!" Harry said, exasperated. "You've gone through all this about a hundred times now. Can we give it a rest for the night, please?"

Ron looked up, surprised at the irritation in Harry's voice. "Sor_ry_," he said, thrusting the book under his pillow. "Didn't mean to keep you up so late, _Mister_ Potter. I know you need your beauty rest."

"You're starting to sound like Malfoy now," Harry said crossly.

"Oh, _that's_ pretty low," Ron said, now genuinely hurt. He waved his wand at the lamp, extinguishing it, flopped down and turned away from Harry. Angrily, Harry turned away as well.

There was perhaps a half-minute of silence in the dark before both of them muttered, at almost the same moment, "Sorry."

Harry smiled in the darkness.

"Good night, Harry," Ron added a few seconds later.

"Good night, Ron."

***

The trip to King's Cross the next morning was subdued. The weather had turned cold the night before and the skies were overcast. Mrs. Weasley called a taxi again, and even though only Ginny needed to use it, since she couldn't take her Apparition test until after her birthday in August, they all crowded into the back seat together for the ride.

Once there, they quickly and unobtrusively made their way onto Platform 9 ¾ where Mr. and Mrs. Weasley wished them all a safe trip, with Mrs. Weasley hugging each of them in turn and Mr. Weasley hugging Ginny, giving Ron an affectionate pat on the arm, and shaking hands with Hermione and Harry.

"I am sorry I missed saying goodbye to Jon," he said, to nobody in particular. "We did have some good conversations about cars."

Harry smiled, in spite of himself. He wondered what Mr. Weasley would say if he knew Jon owned a car that would fly almost twice as fast as the fastest broom on the market, including a Firestar and even Harry's own custom Crown Jewel. Although, thinking about it now, Harry reflected soberly, he wondered if he could continue to trust the brooms his entire team was now flying. None of them would be very happy with him if he ordered them back on their old ones. On the other hand, it would hardly be worth it if one of them was thrown off a cursed broom, as he almost was during his first year playing, when Professor Quirrell, controlled by Voldemort, had tried to kill him.

Saying goodbye a final time to Mr. and Mrs. Weasleys, the four of them boarded the Hogwarts Express and found an empty compartment. Ron settled lazily into place, but as the train began to pull out Hermione almost immediately got to her feet.

"Come on, Ron, we have to patrol the cars."

"No, we don't!" Ron objected. "We're just coming back from Christmas break, Hermione! There's no 'ickle firsties' on here to herd round –"

"Ron, we're _prefects_."

Sighing, Ron lurched to his feet and slouched out of the compartment after Hermione. He leaned back in for a moment and said to Harry, "Get me something off the lunch trolley, will you? Some pumpkin pastries or Chocolate Caudrons or something." Harry nodded and he was gone.

He and Ginny were alone again.

There was a vaguely uncomfortable silence for several minutes as they listened to the train gathering speed. Both of them looked everywhere but at each other. Harry thought Ginny was about to speak several times but she said nothing, instead glancing out the window just as he felt almost ready to speak himself.

Finally, at the same moment –

"I don't know if I should say this to you –"

"There's something I want to ask you –"

They both stopped abruptly, then both of them laughed and Harry said quickly, "You go first."

"No, you go first," Ginny said.

"Alright. I just wanted you to know I'm glad that you want to defend someone you think is being treated unfairly –"

"It would be simpler if you'd just –"

"—_but_ I think it's just as important that we're better off safe than sorry," Harry finished, cutting off her comment.

"You still don't know everything about the situation," Ginny insisted stubbornly. "And as long as you think Jon's up to something you're not going to give him a fair shake."

"I've given him a _lot_ of 'fair shakes,' Ginny," Harry disagreed. "And for most of the time I've known him he's been a good friend. But that doesn't explain the situation between him and Deirdre, or Deirdre and Bane. What are we going to do if Bane is right about Voldemort and he achieves his quest? And if Jon's on our side, _why wouldn't he tell me what he knows about it_?"

Ginny sat back, her arms folded across her chest, and glared at him. She knew he was right, Harry sensed; he'd made his point.

But before either of them could say another word, the compartment door opened and Neville Longbottom leaned in, smiling happily at them. "Good morning," he said to both of them. "Enjoying the ride so far?"

"Hi, Neville," Harry said and, seeing Luna standing in the compartment behind him, added, "Hi, Luna."

"Hi," Ginny said, still frowning at Harry. "Yeah, we're having loads of fun."

"Can we join you?" Neville seemed gormless that Harry and Ginny were already engaged in conversation; he appeared to be in almost as dreamlike a state as Luna frequently was. Ginny hesitated a moment, looking at Harry, who shrugged imperceptibly; she then waved them in. Neville and Luna joined them, sitting on Ginny's side facing Harry. Luna's protuberant eyes wandered vaguely around the compartment, frequently stopping on his face; he got the uncomfortable feeling that she was examining him for some reason.

"Well," Neville said, looking at Harry and Ginny in turn. "We had a very nice Christmas, how about you?"

"Wonderful," Harry said.

"Loads of presents," Ginny added.

"Neville made me this," Luna said, touching the butterbeer-cork necklace she was wearing.

Ginny glanced at it. "It looks a lot like the last one you had," she said, sounding doubtful.

"Well, of course it does," Luna said, raising one eyebrow even higher than normal. "He did a very good job." Neville smiled at her.

"About ready for N.E.W.T.s, Harry?" Neville asked, looking back at Harry.

"Not really," Harry said truthfully.

"But you've got almost six months," Ginny put in.

"And he knows Hermione Granger," Luna added. They all looked at her. "She's very smart," she said, looking at Neville. She looked back at Harry. "Neville wanted to take her to the Yule Ball three years ago, but she'd already agreed to go with Viktor Krum."

A year ago, if anyone had said these things in front of Neville he would have done his best to melt into the floor. Now, however, he just chuckled softly and said wryly, "Yeah, I was pretty mortified when she told me no. I wanted to lock myself in the boys' bathroom until school let out for the summer."

"Luna, how's your father?" Ginny asked, to change the subject."Fine," Luna said, now sounding the most alert she'd been since entering the compartment. "He's been very busy with the _Quibbler_ these past six months doing some articles on a number of Seers who've predicted the return of You-Know-Who."

Neville, who'd been happy and cheerful to this point, now looked a trifle sullen. "You know he's just doing that to annoy me, pumpkin."

Ginny looked at Harry and mouthed the word "_Pumpkin?_" with a look of nausea on her face. Harry shrugged slightly. Neither Neville nor Luna noticed this.

"I don't know why you think Daddy dislikes you," Luna was saying to Neville, looking quite serious for a change. "He wanted to do a special interview with you, just like with Harry, after you defeated You-Know-Who."

"What he _wanted_," Neville corrected her, "was an interview with me _and_ Harry discussing whether _he_ was the Chosen One or _I_ was." He looked at Harry, an expression of embarrassment on his face. "I didn't think it was right to exploit Harry like that."

"Oh, tosh," Luna said, sounding annoyed. "It would have gotten to the bottom of the whole Snape/Fudge conspiracy to take over Gringotts and the Ministry."

"The _WHAT_?" Harry said incredulously.

Luna reached into her robe and pulled out a copy of the _Quibbler_. "Severus Snape and Cornelius Fudge were plotting to take over, first Gringotts, then the Ministry of Magic, from the goblin rights group _Uggargligclog_, which has been secretly controlling it for the past eighteen months since Fudge was forced to resign."

"So Fudge wasn't forced to resign because of Voldemort's threats against the Ministry?" Ginny asked, unable to resist; there was a twinkle in her eye as she directed this question to Luna.

"That was what the Ministry _wanted_ us to believe, of course," Luna said, matter-of-factly. "They don't want people knowing that the goblins are actually in charge of Gringotts."

"But the goblins _are_ in charge of Gringotts!" Harry protested.

"Exactly," Luna said with a small, knowing smile. She opened up the copy of the _Quibbler_ and disappeared behind it.

Ginny chuckled softly, and Harry shook his head, confused. Did Luna think she had just out-argued him? _Had_ she?

The compartment door slid open and Ron and Hermione entered. "Everything looks fine," Hermione said, sitting down opposite Ginny while Ron slid in next to Harry, across from Neville.

"We were just talking about you," Ginny said to Hermione, grinning. By Harry's reckoning, actually, they were about six or so subjects beyond Hermione at the moment, the topics were shifting so fast.

"Really, what about?" Hermione inquired.

"Just about how smart you were," Luna said vaguely from behind her copy of the _Quibbler_.

"Oh," Hermione looked a bit surprised. "Thank you, I hope," she said with some uncertainty.

"Oh, nothing bad at all," Neville said quickly. "We were just discussing N.E.W.T.s."

That, of course, launched Hermione into a discussion (more of a monologue, Harry decided, after about ten minutes or so of her non-stop talking) on how to study various subjects for N.E.W.T.s and what was important to know during the practical examinations. Neville was listening raptly to her, and Ginny watched her thoughtfully. Luna continued to read the Quibbler, while Harry and Ron began an impromptu game of rock, paper, scissors.

The lunch trolley came by, halting Hermione's lecture, and they all bought snacks. Harry bought a few extra Chocolate Frogs and Cauldrons, and some other items, and handed them round to share. They sat munching, reading, chatting and dozing for the afternoon as the train traveled northward under the increasingly cold, graying skies.

Everyone roused themselves as the train began slowing down as it approached Hogsmeade Station. By the time it had come to a halt, everyone's bags and cages were in hand and they disembarked and made their way quickly in the chill early evening air toward the thestral-drawn carriages waiting for them.

Harry stopped for a moment, trying to decide which carriage they would use, when he was shoved from behind by Malfoy as he, Crabbe and Goyle walked by.

"Making a habit of trying to push people around, aren't you, Malfoy?" Harry said, as he recovered and turned to face them.

"Then don't stand about like a great lump, Potter," Malfoy said maliciously, as Hermione and Ron stepped up to frame Harry on either side. "You'll get in important people's way."

"Being Head Boy gone to your head, then?" Harry sneered. "I'm surprised you were able to board the train with an ego that big."

Rather than becoming flushed with anger, however, Malfoy chuckled. "We'll see how big your ego is, Potter, once things start popping around here in the next day or two."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ron snarled.

"Oh, you'll see," Malfoy drawled airily, half-turning as if to walk away. He stopped, though, and his expression turned hard. "I said you'd bought a load of trouble. Now you can deal with it." He turned and stalked off to one of the carriages, followed by a smirking Crabbe and Goyle.

"Never mind him," Hermione said to Harry.

"He's got something up his sleeve, though," Harry muttered as they piled into a carriage: him, Ron, Hermione on one side, Ginny, Neville and Luna opposite them. It lurched into motion as the door closed, and the line of carriages made its way along the road toward Hogsmeade and the front gates of Hogwarts.

Harry waved at passing Gryffindors as they made their way up to Gryffindor Tower. Hermione showed up a few minutes later, after stopping by McGonagall's office to retrieve the common room's password.

"It's 'belladonna,' " Hermione said, and they passed through the Fat Lady's portrait and into the room. "She didn't really seem herself today," Hermione murmured as they made their way to a nearby table.

"Who, the Fat Lady?" Ron asked. "So what?"

"No, Professor McGonagall," Hermione said, looking concerned. "She was distracted by something she'd just read. It was lying on her desk, she didn't even try to cover it up while she was telling me the password."

"So, what's up, then?" Ron prompted her. "What was she reading?"

"I couldn't read much of it," she told them. "But it was on Ministry of Magic stationery and the first sentence said that Aurors would arrive at Hogwarts on Monday morning, the beginning of term."

"We had Aurors here all last year," Ginny said with a sniff. "Tonks and few others, down in Hogsmeade. We hardly saw them at all. I wonder what this lot will be about?"

Harry said nothing, but he'd made an instant connection between the Aurors mentioned in the letter to McGonagall and the Aurors he'd bribed in Azkaban, the ones Snape had warned him, when he was pretending to be Draco would eventually come back to bite him.

The Great Hall was filled the next morning when Harry and Ron arrived for breakfast. "We found notes this morning that said to come down for breakfast this morning for a special announcement," Harry told Hermione as they squeezed in next to her.

"We got them too," Hermione nodded as she lightly buttered a piece of toast. "I think Professor McGonagall is going to tell us about the Aurors."

And indeed, a few minutes before the first classes of the day were scheduled to begin, Professor McGonagall stood from the center chair of the Head Table and called for silence. The hubbub in the Hall rapidly died away as everyone turned to listen to her.

"There are Aurors here this morning from the Ministry of Magic," McGonagall said into the silence. "There have been some disturbing accusations of theft and misuse of seventh-year liberty, and several students will be questioned. If you are called from one of your classes, please report to the deputy headmaster's office."

_Snape's office_, Harry thought grimly. _How appropriate a location for questioning by the Ministry of Magic_.

"I remind you all," McGonagall continued, "that a student being called from class is not an implication of guilt of any sort; it is merely the Ministry's intention to gather all the facts it requires in order to make a determination of what has occurred."

"And expel you on the spot if they think you're guilty," Ron muttered to Harry, echoing his own thoughts.

"They won't expel anyone without Professor McGonagall's approval," Hermione whispered.

"D'you think she'll go against the Ministry?" Ron said, sounding dubious.

"Professor Dumbledore did," Hermione said pointedly.

"But she's not Dumbledore," Harry said flatly. It was not a denigration of her ability as Headmistress, but a simple statement of fact.

McGonagall had been admonishing anyone called to speak with the Aurors to be truthful and straightforward. "I hope everyone will cooperate fully with the Ministry in order to bring this investigation to a swift end. Finally, I and the other teachers at Hogwarts welcome all of you back, especially those who will be in preparation for their O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s later this year. Good luck to all of you. You are all dismissed to your first period classes."

Harry, Ron and Hermione grabbed their books and made their way to Herbology, where Professor Sprout wasted no time outlining their coursework for the rest of the year, including their N.E.W.T. work. "You'll be expected to identify several types of plants," she told them, bustling around the greenhouse checking their preparations for class, "including potentially dangerous ones like draconia."

"Draconia?" Ron whispered to Harry, who shrugged. Their preparations this morning, which were becoming more and more the norm for the types of plants they'd been studying lately, required them to wear gum shields, protective goggles and gloves, as well as, for today's assignment, neck shielding. Today's assignment was to peel strips of bark from strangler figs. The plants, not native to Britain, were brought from the east over a thousand years ago and were used in Aging Potions as well as Felix Felicis.

"Chapter 30 of _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_, Ron," Hermione muttered wearily. "Honestly, how do either of you expect to pass your Herbology N.E.W.T.s if you're not doing the assignments?"

"We haven't even been assigned chapter 30 yet!" Ron protested.

"Professor Sprout assigned it during our last class last term." Hermione pointed to a notation she'd made in her schedule book that day listing that chapter of their Herbology book as a reading assignment. "It's not my fault you're not paying attention in class, Ron."

"Never mind," Harry said hastily, looking at the tree they were standing around. It was quivering slightly, as if anticipating what they were about to do to it. "We'll get round to reading it, Hermione."

"Fine," she sniffed. "Let's get on with it, then," she said, indicating the strangler fig. They each attacked a side of the tree with their debarking blades, cutting thin lines which they then peeled off the tree and placed in a bucket.

True to its name, the strangler fig did not stand idle while this was going on. Thinner branches from the upper limbs of the tree reached down, attempting to curl around their necks and throttle them. They worked in rotation; as the limbs began to wrap around one person they stopped cutting while the next person took up the job, causing the limbs to move toward them.

"How's it going?" Neville called from a nearby tree, where he, Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbott were engaged in similar activity. Neville's bucket was already nearly full.

"Fantastic," Ron replied sarcastically as limbs began to wrap around his neck. He stopped cutting and watched as Harry quickly cut strips from his part of the tree.

"You're doing great, Ron," Neville said, grinning.

"Wonderful," Ron muttered as Harry stopped cutting to let the branches move from him to Hermione as she began cutting. "I can just see myself as a professional tree stripper." Harry snickered.

At the end of class they dropped off their buckets with Professor Sprout, put away their goggles, gloves and neck protectors, and headed to their next class after Herbology, Transfiguration.

They had to take a detour; Peeves was causing problems on one of the staircases, keeping students from passing. Hermione started forward to argue with Peeves, but Lisa Turpin, one of the Hufflepuff prefects, was already shouting at him to get off. They doubled back, taking a longer route, and arrived at the Transfiguration classroom just the bell sounded for class.

Tonks was waiting outside the door, Harry saw that her expression was tense. She pushed the door closed as they walked up, and said in a low voice, "Ron, Hermione, I've just gotten a note that you're to report to Snape's office for questioning by Ministry Aurors."

Hermione's eyes widened. "What do they want to question _us_ for?"

"I don't know," Tonks said flatly. "McGonagall asked me to send out a few owls to some of my contacts at the Ministry, to see what was up, but nothing came back." She tried to smile encouragingly, but it was a futile effort. "Just be honest with them and I'm sure things'll be fine."

Ron eyed her dubiously. "It hasn't worked that well for us so far," he muttered. He and Hermione turned and started back toward Snape's office.

After a few steps, however, Hermione turned and looked back at Harry. "It'll be alright," he told her, seeing the look of panic in her eyes. She nodded, looking very uncertain, then she and Ron both disappeared up the corridor.

"She doesn't look happy at all," Tonks said softly as she and Harry watched them walk out of sight.

"She believes that telling the truth is always the best policy," Harry said.

"Hm," Tonks mused, looking at him. "And you don't, Harry?"

"Well, I've learned, rather the hard way, that it isn't."

"Come on, then," Tonks said. "Let's get class started before everyone starts wondering where we've gotten off to." She opened the door and she and Harry walked into the Transfiguration classroom.

There were numerous whispered conversations going on as Harry took his seat. He looked at Jon and Deirdre, seated together near the desks where he, Ron and Hermione usually sat. Both of their faces were expressionless as he sat down alone. Malfoy's face, however, was wearing a malicious smile as Harry caught a glimpse of it before turning to face Professor Tonks, who had stepped in front of her desk, motioning for silence.

"Let's get started, shall we?" Tonks said as the conversations finally died away. "This term, we'll start discussions on –"

"Professor?" Malfoy had raised his hand.

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy?"

"We still have two students missing, Professor," Malfoy gleefully pointed out. "Aren't you going to wait for them?"

"They have permission to be absent from class," Tonks said curtly.

"Answering some questions, are they?" Malfoy suggested maliciously while the other Slytherins present sniggered behind their hands.

"That's not your concern, is it?" Tonks pointed out. "Now that'll be _enough_ from you, Mr. Malfoy," she added sternly as Malfoy opened his mouth again. Most of the class, Harry included, was staring at Malfoy; he gave Harry a smirk but otherwise held his peace.

Harry saw Deirdre turn and whisper something to Jon, who shrugged and shook his head. She glanced furtively in Harry's direction then looked away quickly when she saw he was watching her. It was very easy for Harry to guess that they had something to do with Ron and Hermione's questioning. What he had to figure out was, what connection was there between those two and Malfoy. Or Snape, for that matter.

Tonks got the class underway. As expected, she began by discussing the upcoming N.E.W.T.-level tests and what they could expect to see on both the theoretical and practical portions. Harry tried to write down what Tonks was saying; he knew Hermione would be distraught if she missed the information.

"The 'big secret' of Transfiguration, if you want to call it that," Tonks confided to the class at the end of her description of the final coursework, "is that once you've gotten the hang of Cross-Species and Cross-Kingdom Switches, it's pretty much just a matter of practicing."

Harry, who'd been dutifully copying down Tonks' words, held up his hand. "Yes, Harry?" she said, pointing to him.

"Professor, what about spells that bring things to life? That seems to be much more involved than the other way round."

"Example?" Tonks asked.

"Er –" the only example Harry could think of in the moment was something he didn't want to mention explicitly "— well, how about bringing a statue to life?"

Tonks took out her wand. "Like this?" she said, gesturing at a small statue of Myron Wagtail sitting on her desk. The statue jerked, startled, then waved at the class. Several of the students chuckled.

"Well, yeah," Harry said. "I was thinking of a bigger statue –"

"I know what you were thinking of," Tonks said. "But we're not really putting 'life' into the statue. It will only do what I've intended for it to do, which is to react to motion toward it and wave at anyone looking at it every so often." As if to punctuate this point the statue waved again. "The more complicated you want the object's actions to be, the more complicated the spell will be, even if there are only a few words to speak or think."

"What about something like the Sorting Hat?" Jon spoke up.

"That's a really good example," Tonks said, nodding. "We don't know exactly how Godric Gryffindor and the other Hogwarts Founders created the Sorting Hat, but it must've involved a lot of Transfiguration, Charm and perhaps even some Leglimency."

There was a knock at the door and a tall wizard with short, grey hair walked into the room. Harry recognized him at once as the Auror Dawlish, who had tried to arrest Dumbledore two years ago on Cornelius Fudge's orders.

Tonks nodded to him in respectful recognition as he approached her. Dawlish, however, did not return her greeting. Wordlessly he handed her a small piece of paper. She glanced at it, her eyes flickering briefly to Harry, then sighed.

"Harry Potter, Jonathan Crown, come up here, please," she said quietly. As they stood up Dawlish murmured something to Tonks and she added, "Bring your books as well, please."

Harry and Jon each gathered up their things. Harry glanced at the rest of the class as he finished stuffing his books into his book bag: Deirdre looked rather panicked, while Malfoy was smiling nastily nearly from ear to ear; the other Slytherins were whispering and snickering among themselves. The rest of the class was looking at each other and Harry in varying degrees of confusion; a few, like Zacharias Smith, were shaking their heads in disgust or disappointment.

Harry and Jon both approached Dawlish. "What's this about?" Jon asked as he stopped in front of the Auror, who made no reply but looked at Jon with an expression of contempt on his face.

"You're to report to Snape's office for questioning," Tonks said, very quietly. Out of the corner of his eye Harry saw several students lean forward, trying to catch her words. "This Auror will accompany you."

"Has it moved?" Jon asked sardonically.

"Just go with him, Jon," Tonks said, her tone a warning.

Jon looked at her and nodded. At a gesture from Dawlish he walked out the door with Harry into the hallway. They followed him silently through the school corridors to Snape's office. He was still using the same office as he had the previous year, located near the Potions classroom along the corridor from the staircase down from entrance hall to the dungeon level.

During the walk down, Harry had time to wonder about why they were bringing both him and Jon down to Snape's together. Did they think he and Jon were acting together in some way? Why hadn't they brought him and Jon down with Ron and Hermione? Beside him, Jon was now silent, though he didn't appear apprehensive or intimidated by Dawlish's refusal to speak to them. Whatever was going on, Harry thought, he wasn't going to be lumped in with whatever they thought Jon was up to.

They arrived at Snape's office. As usual, it was dimly lit and chilly; there was no fire going in the fireplace. Shelves along the walls were lined with row after row of large glass jars filled with very unpleasant looking things. There were two plain, wooden chairs placed in front of Snape's large wooden desk. The room was almost exactly as Harry remembered it from his detentions at the end of the previous year; the only thing missing from it was – Snape.

At Snape's desk sat, instead of the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, a handsome, dark-haired wizard with sharp, penetrating black eyes and a black goatee that tapered to a sharp, curled tip. He was dressed in a dark robe similar to Dawlish's; Harry guessed he was an Auror as well.

"Well, Mr. Potter and Mr. Crown, we meet at last," the wizard said, rising and coming out from behind the desk to stand before them. "I am Alexander Nomolous, with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement." His accent, while unlike Jon's, was vaguely different, as if he was used to speaking a language other than English. "Why don't you both have a seat?" He indicated the two chairs in front of Snape's desk. "I have a few questions for you and then you can both be on your way." Turning to Dawlish he said, "Thank you, I'll call you when I'm finished with them."

Harry and Jon each took a seat. Harry heard the door to Snape's office click shut behind them; a moment later there was a louder _click_ as the door was locked from the other side. What did it mean, he wondered, that they were being locked in this room with this man, who was obviously an Auror?

Nomolous sat down behind Snape's desk and smiled genially at both of them. He was attempting, Harry expected, to win their confidence. Or at least to appear innocuous, perhaps. "You're both in seventh year, aren't you?" Nomolous asked. Harry and Jon each nodded.

The Auror consulted some parchment scrolls on the desk before him. "Interesting… it says here, Harry, you were thinking of becoming an Auror, yes?"

"Yes," Harry answered.

"And Jonathan, do you have any career aspirations?" Nomolous inquired, looking at Jon expectantly.

"At present, I still haven't decided," Jon said.

"Any thoughts on what you might be interested in?"

"Well, I hear the 'Dark Lord' position hasopened up recently," Jon said, dryly.

Harry looked at him in disbelief, but Nomolous only chuckled. "Very good! A sense of humor. I can appreciate that." He looked at Harry. "You, of course, Harry, have firsthand knowledge of that yourself, having had several confrontations with He-Who-Must-No-Be-Named in the last few years."

The Auror looked over several more rolls of parchment on the desk in front of him. "You both know, I take it, a Mr. Draco Malfoy?"

_Here we are_, Harry thought. _Did Malfoy tip them off about Azkaban? Or did something happen with the Aurors there?_

"I understand there was a fight between Malfoy and you, Mr. Crown," Nomolous said, still looking at his papers.

"Yes," Jon said evenly. "He challenged me to a duel at the beginning of the school year."

"Interesting," Nomolous said. "In his statements he says that you challenged him." He looked up, directly into Jon's eyes. "Are you sure you aren't mistaken in saying he challenged you, Jon?"

"No, I'm not mistaken," Jon replied firmly. "He challenged me. Harry and his friend Ron Weasley both heard him."

They held each others' gaze for several moments. Harry had the distinct impression that Nomolous was a Leglimens – the methods he was using were very similar to Snape's eye contact and look of concentration. But if he was getting anything from Jon, it was impossible to tell: Jon's eyes were as steady as the Auror's own.

After a few moments, Nomolous smiled and reached for another piece of parchment in front of him. "There is also the matter of Azkaban," he said, looking at Harry, who now had the uncomfortable feeling that his own thoughts had been read as well.

"What about Azkaban?" Jon asked, as if he had no idea what the Auror was talking about.

"Draco Malfoy," Nomolous said, looking at another scroll in front of him, "had been traveling to Azkaban Prison, off and on, since the beginning of the school year to visit his father, who is there serving a sentence for breaking into the Ministry of Magic's Department of Mysteries and attempting to steal a prophecy, as well as attacking and harming several people during the course of that break-in.

"His Head of House, Severus Snape, informed us that Malfoy struck a deal with him not to travel to Azkaban because it was causing undue stress and strain on both his father and mother. However, Malfoy began having his friends masquerade as him using Polyjuice Potion and traveling secretly to the prison to continue seeing his father."

"Malfoy _told_ you all this?" Harry blurted out unbelievingly.

"Some of it," Nomolous smiled. "We also have statements from two Aurors who work at the prison, Agarn and Rourke, that he was there the Sunday before the end of term. However, Malfoy also made some interesting claims about you and Jon, Harry."

"Like what?" Jon asked.

Nomolous picked up another scroll and began reading from it. "Here's what Malfoy wrote in his statement: 'When I left the prison I just gotten my broom from the guard shed when I saw who I thought was Gregory Goyle running toward me on the beach. I could hardly believe that because I had left him at school with enough Polyjuice Potion to keep him looking like me for several hours. I quickly deduced that it had to be Harry Potter and challenged him, but I was attacked from behind by, I believe, Ronald Weasley and Jon Crown. I was Stunned unconscious but kept waking up inside what I thought was an illegal flying car being driven by Crown. Once I was conscious for several minutes before Weasley Stunned me again. I woke up next to my broom outside the main gates of Hogwarts, with my robe draped over me. That's when I discovered that my Ever-Filling Purse was gone.'" Nomolous dropped the scroll onto the desk. "I expect you can see why Malfoy was willing to admit that he'd traveled to Azkaban and to giving the Aurors on duty there bribes – his mother is _very_ concerned about the whereabouts of that purse."

But Harry was confused. "What's an 'Ever-Filling Purse?'" he asked.

"Never heard of that?" Nomolous smiled indulgently. "It's a purse provided by Gringotts for certain, shall we say, 'privileged' customers. It forms a direct link between one of their vaults, so that you can always reach in and take out the exact amount of gold you need."

"That would be pretty handy," Jon said, sounding impressed.

"Indeed," Nomolous agreed. "That is why we want to know what Harry has done with it."

Harry was stunned. "I didn't take it!" he protested.

"We have conducted raids on the homes of the two Aurors, and have searched their desks and lockers at the Ministry," Nomolous said, looking at yet another piece of parchment. "No purse was found and the two Aurors claim that when Malfoy returned a second time that day, he paid them an additional 25 Galleons apiece from the Purse, then returned it to his pocket."

"No," Harry said, shaking his head. "No, that's not right! I think I dropped the purse on one of their desks."

"You _think_?"

"I did," Harry corrected himself quickly. He abandoned all pretense of not knowing what Nomolous was talking about. "Professor Snape was there that day – he may have seen it as well."

"Professor Snape does not remember seeing a purse at all," Nomolous said, now frowning. "He was not there when you bribed the Aurors, was he?"

"N-no…" Harry said slowly. "But — but – those two Aurors are lying!" he finally blurted out, knowing exactly how lame the excuse sounded. "You – you could use Veritaserum on them to find out."

"I would use Veritaserum on _you_ before I would on two Ministry Aurors, Harry!" Nomolous said forcefully.

"But they _are lying_!" Harry insisted.

"They say _you_ are lying, Harry," Nomolous said flatly. "But I don't think you are," he continued in a more genteel tone. "I think someone else may have taken the purse from you, then changed your memories so you don't remember." He turned and looked significantly at Jon.

Jon laughed heartily. "I wondered when I was going to come up in this conversation," he said as he finally stopped laughing.

"Would you care to deny the fact that you own a 1966 Chevrolet Corvette, illegally modified to fly in direct violation of the laws regarding the misuse of Muggle artifacts?" Nomolous demanded, his pretense of geniality suddenly gone.

"No, I won't deny that," Jon shrugged. "But it's not illegal to own such a vehicle in America."

"It is, however, illegal _here_," Nomolous said loudly. "And _here_ is where you have it!"

"No, it's not here," Jon said clearly. Harry looked at him quickly. Jon's face was carefully expressionless, as if he expected a Leglimency attack from Nomolous – which in truth Harry would as well, to see if he was telling the truth.

"There is no use lying," Nomolous said sternly. "We already have statements from Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley about the existence and location of said vehicle."

"And where would that be?" Jon inquired innocently.

"The Shrieking Shack, in Hogsmeade," the Auror said with a triumphant grin.

But Jon merely shrugged and said, "I suppose you should go look, then."

"Oh, we are, right now, as we speak!" Nomolous said, now beginning to heat up. "And we won't go easy on you, boy, when we find it. You'd have done better to admit your guilt; at least then you might've given back Madam Malfoy's Purse and gotten off with a fine and deportation back to America. As it stands you'll probably do time in Azkaban."

"Well, we'll see," Jon said, sounding positively airy. How could he possibly be so cool about this, Harry wondered, half-afraid for him in spite of the problems he had caused. Azkaban, even without the dementors running around it, was no place for a 17-year old.

"Yes, we will," Nomolous concurred. He stood. "I'll be back in a few moments. Can I get you anything to drink while I'm out? Would you like a plate sent up, lunch is nearly over."

"No," said Harry, who could hardly think of eating at the moment.

"I'm fine," Jon said as well.

"Very well. Sit tight." Nomolous left the room, locking it behind him.

After Nomolous left, it was several minutes before Jon and Harry even looked at one another.

Finally Jon dared to turn to him. "Harry –"

"I don't know what you think you're going to prove with this!" Harry nearly exploded at him. "You know very well you have –"

"They're watching us, you know," Jon cut over him.

"_I don't care_!" Harry shouted. "_I'm not lying_!"

"That doesn't mean you're right, though," Jon pointed out, maddeningly.

Harry took a deep breath to begin shouting again, then suddenly let it out without a sound. It was pointless to shout about this, he realized; they would find the car in the Shrieking Shack and that would be the end of it.

At least, that was what Harry desperately wanted to believe, except that Jon's calm attitude was completely at odds with what he, Harry, _knew_ to be true: there was a 1966 Corvette in the Shrieking Shack, and they had gone to Azkaban in it. Twice. As well as several times to Diagon Alley. Well, _hadn't_ they?

They waited through lunch. Harry was beginning to regret declining Nomolous's offer of a meal. Jon continued to sit quietly long after Harry began fidgeting in his chair, which had rapidly become uncomfortable After Harry had shifted in his seat about the twentieth time, Jon looked over and said, "You could conjure yourself up a pillow, you know."

Harry ignored him. He was already in enough trouble, he thought, distractedly.

"I mean," Jon continued, almost as if Harry had spoken his thoughts aloud, "what's the harm in having a pillow to sit on?" He took out his wand, waved it in the air in front of himself, and caught a small cushion as it fell out of thin air. Tossing it on the floor in front of Harry, he repeated the gesture, then stood, placed the second cushion on the chair and sat on it.

"Ahhhh," he said, replacing his wand in his robe. "_Much_ better."

Harry looked down at the cushion on the floor in front of him, but before he could decide whether to pick it up or not, the door to Snape's office opened and Nomolous strode into the room, looking grim.

Instead of going behind Snape's desk, he walked up and stopped directly in front of Jon's chair, staring at him with his hands on his hips. "A very neat trick, Mr. Crown," he said finally, as if giving grudging admiration.

"Thanks," Jon said blandly. "But it's just a couple of pillows."

Nomolous leaned down so his handsome features, now twisted in anger, were barely a foot from Jon's. "Your _car_, you little snot! Don't play the innocent with me!"

"My car," Jon said again, "Is in America. I told you that earlier."

Nomolous stood and walked around to sit at Snape's desk once again. He began gathering up the various scrolls, sheets, and folders of parchment, replacing them in a briefcase that had sat open on the desk until now.

"Fine," he said as he packed. "We still have quite enough to deal with Harry, who has admitted to giving a bribe to Ministry Aurors, who will corroborate that statement –"

"You mean," Jon corrected, "they will admit that _Draco Malfoy_ bribed them, not once, not even _twice_, but _several times_ over the course of the past four months, then suddenly he loses his mother's enchanted coin purse and starts blaming Harry, his greatest rival at school, for it."

"But –" Harry began, but Jon held up a hand and Harry cut himself off.

"What did you find at the Shrieking Shack, sir?" Jon asked Nomolous.

Nomolous appeared furious at the question. "You know damned well we found nothing! If we had –"

"If you had you would undoubtedly be whisking me off to Azkaban at this very moment to await a trial that might never happen."

"How _dare_ you –" Nomolous sputtered, enraged at the American's impudence.

"I think you've got that backwards," Jon said, cutting him off. "How dare _you_ come in here and accuse me without adequate evidence? What it looks like," he said, getting to his feet and leaning over the desk at Nomolous, "is that your Aurors at Azkaban either stole Malfoy's purse, or he lost it, there or somewhere else, and now you're trying to turn it into some kind of – you'll excuse the expression – witch hunt!"

The door suddenly flew open and Snape burst in, striding furiously across the room to stand before the Auror. "What's the matter with you, Nomolous? You have all the evidence you need to throw Potter in Azkaban! Get on with it!"

"I don't!" Nomolous hissed. "Scrimgeour won't have it! He barely tolerated Fudge's playing fast and loose with the law – our methods have been severely curtailed under the new administration!"

Snape spun around to point an accusing finger at Potter. "You've done this deliberately, haven't you? Set up this farce – trying to discredit me – it won't work, do you hear me?"

"I – I don't –" Harry began. He was utterly bewildered by Snape's wild, nonsensical accusations.

"Don't say anything, Harry," Jon said, as if Harry were about to say something else entirely different.

"Then _explain it to me_, Mr. Crown," Snape said, his voice cracking like a whip. "Granger and Weasley both admit to being passengers in your car multiple times, traveling to Diagon Alley to see that asinine Vault Tournament being held there. How do you explain _that_?"

"Pretty easily, actually," Jon said, returning to his seat. "It was to help Ron get over his Apparition anxiety."

" 'Apparition anxiety?' " Nomolous, Snape and Harry all said at once. "What the devil are you talking about?" Snape snapped.

"Ron failed his first Apparition test last year," Jon said. "Just barely, but a miss is as good as a mile, and he was very apprehensive about taking the test again. He did, though, in August with Harry, and passed this time. Again, just barely.

"So the idea of Apparating by himself has always been a source of great worry for Ron, but he also really wanted to go to those Vault Tournaments. When Harry told me this just before the first Vault Tournament was scheduled to begin, I suggested we use the opportunity to give Ron an incentive to learn to Apparate."

Although this was all sheer fabrication, Harry held his peace. He was curious, in a bizarre way, to see where Jon was going. The look of incredulity that appeared on Snape's face was almost comical. "What are you trying to say, Crown? That you somehow tricked Potter, Weasley and Granger into believing they were traveling in a car, for _three hours at a time_, in _three or four separate incidents_? _What kind of fools do you take us for_?"

"Just average ones, it appears," Jon said with a pitying smile.

Snape looked as if his head would explode. He turned away, probably to hide his rage and frustration. Nomolous watched him, looking hideously uncomfortable and nervous. Truthfully, Harry could guess how they felt; and if what Jon said was true, they'd been completely fooled by whatever Jon had done to them.

Just as Nomolous stepped up to Snape and asked, "Severus? Are you alright? Severus?" Jon looked at Harry, and winked.

Nomolous was about to reach out and touch Snape when the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher put up a hand to stop him. "Stay here," he said to Harry and Jon. Flinging open the door, he strode away down the corridor leading to the dungeons and the Potions classroom.

He returned a minute later with Ron and Hermione in tow. Pushing them into the room ahead of him, Snape closed the door behind him. "Now," he said tightly, bringing his wand out, "we'll get to the bottom of this."

He pointed his wand at Ron. "Weasley! Do you ever feel apprehensive or anxious about Apparating?"

"What?" Ron said. He was still completely intimidated by Snape's aggressive behavior, Harry could tell. "I-I'm – sometimes I am," he stumbled over his words.

"When?" Snape asked quickly.

"Well, when… when…" Ron said, hesitating.

"When _what_?!" Snape shouted.

"When I'm around _you_!" Ron finally blurted out.

Snape's eyes narrowed. "Why would you say that?"

"Because you've always put him down for it!" Hermione cried, too incensed to remain quiet. "You told him last year he couldn't even Apparate a half-inch across the room!"

Ron nodded. "I remember that!"

Snape looked as if he'd just been poleaxed. He and Nomolous were both crushed, defeated, spent. "Everyone out," Snape said, pointing to the door. "Back to your classes, or wherever you're supposed to be now. Potter – not you. You stay," he said as they all turned to go. Harry nodded encouragingly at Ron and Hermione; Hermione nodded in return, with a small smile, and Ron gave him a thumbs-up. They exited with Jon, closing the door behind them, leaving Snape and Harry staring tensely at each other with looks of deepest loathing on both their faces.

"What now, Snape?" Nomolous asked uncertainly.

Eyes still fixed on Harry, an expression of hatred on his face, Snape pointed to the door of his office. "Get out, Nomolous."

"See here, Snape!" Nomolous said indignantly. "You can't order me about! I'm a senior Auror!"

Snape's head turned and he transfixed Nomolous with a deadly stare. "Get out, or wake up in St. Mungo's. In June." Nomolous saw the look in his eyes, and got out.

After the door shut behind Nomolous, Snape's gaze returned to Harry. "I suppose," he said, his voice dripping venom, "that you have cause to be happy about the outcome of today's mischief."

Harry said nothing. In truth, he was mightily surprised he was still attending Hogwarts, but he knew, through bitter experience, not to give Snape _any_ reason to gloat, even if only in defeat.

"Get out," Snape said coldly. "But – before you go," he added, as Harry turned toward the door. "A word of caution: _I know what you were doing at Azkaban_."

Once again Harry was jolted. "What do you know?" he asked impulsively.

"I know," Snape said, with a penetrating look at him, "about the Helm of Gryffindor."

Inwardly, Harry cursed. "From Lucius Malfoy?" he demanded.

"It's not your concern _how_ I know," Snape said dismissively.

_Right_, Harry thought bitterly, _because learning about it from Malfoy would mean you're still a Death Eater_.

Unless… a horrible thought had occurred to Harry. What if he had learned about it from Ron or Hermione? They'd been sent to Snape's office almost three-quarters of an hour before he and Jon were summoned there. Snape had had ample time then to wrest the information about it from them then.

Harry clamped down on his fear that just that had happened, and pushed away his loathing of Snape. He could not afford to let Snape see it in him; to do so would be just like handing over a powerful weapon to him. But he still had something to say to Snape.

"If you're still on our side, you know why we have to find the Helm of Gryffindor," Harry said evenly.

"Potter, stop being so arrogant as to presume to tell me what I should do for 'our side,' as you put it," Snape said, his voice icy. "I know very well just _what_, exactly, I should be doing for 'our side.' "

"Been hard to tell that, lately," Harry said acidly.

"Ten points from Gryffindor, for cheek," Snape said automatically. "Now, get out of my sight!"

Harry fled from Snape's office, returning quickly to the Gryffindor common room. There he found Ron and Hermione sitting next to each other on a divan, holding hands. They looked up as Harry entered the common room.

"Over here, Harry!" Hermione called. Harry walked over, feeling himself beginning to shake as he approached. He had no idea what he would say once he reached them.

"Are you alright?" Ron asked as Harry stopped in front of them. Harry shook his head but said nothing more. He stood there, seemingly for a long time. No one spoke, waiting for someone else to say something.

"Where's Jon?" Harry asked.

"No idea," Ron said at once. "He split up from us as just as we reached the seventh floor. Said he had some stuff to do."

Harry nodded, although he had no idea what Jon was up to any more.

"What is it?" Hermione finally asked, to break the silence that had become almost unbearable.

"Snape knows about the Helm of Gryffindor," he said in a low tone.

"How?" Ron and Hermione asked at once, at the same time.

"He wouldn't tell me," Harry said. "But –" he didn't want to say what he had to next. "D-did either of you think about it while you were being questioned?"

"Leglimency?" Hermione said, voicing Harry's unspoken fear. "But Snape never talked to us directly, Harry. It was that tall wizard, Dawlish, who questioned us, and he barely made eye contact. I don't think he's a Leglimens," she concluded. "And Snape never had time – he just came and got us at the end there and brought us to his office, where you and Jon were."

"Jon and Deirdre have some connection with Bane, and both he and Firenze believe there is some upheaval coming where Voldemort will achieve his quest," Harry said. "Whatever that connection is, we have to find out what secrets they know about the upcoming 'upheaval' the centaurs have spoken about."

The word "secret" made Hermione's expression harden. "What?" Harry asked, seeing the change in her face.

"Snape, McGonagall and Flitwick came in over the lunch period and closed up the entrance to the secret passageway," Hermione said, looking over at the fireplace.

Harry looked quickly at Ron, who nodded glumly. Hermione continued, "Dean was up in your dormitory getting something out of his trunk. When he came down, they were in the middle of removing the charms. Dean said McGonagall didn't look too happy having to remove a part of Hogwarts history. Flitwick told her and Snape the passageway appeared to be over 700 years old, at least as old as Gryffindor Tower itself."

"I, um, sort of mentioned to Dean afterwards that we already knew about it," Ron added ruefully. "He wasn't too happy with us, either, about that."

"I can't blame him," Harry shrugged. Keeping secrets from your friends isn't really being a friend, is it?

"You still aren't convinced about Jon, are you?" Hermione said, sounding almost sad.

"I don't know," Harry said, and that was the truth.

The next morning's _Daily Prophet_ had huge news: Rita Skeeter had somehow gotten wind of the Malfoy's purloined purse and had written a lurid article on it, naming names and speculating wildly on the depth of what had been covered up, in her opinion.

Students who didn't get the _Prophet_ delivered were clustered around those who did. Hermione, unrolling her own copy after it had been delivered, read the headline aloud: "'Ministry Covers Up Auror Bribery, Theft Scandal.'" Harry, who'd slid in next to her once he saw the paper coming, read along silently as she read aloud for those listening.

* * *

_"Ministry officials attempted vainly to maintain the web of secrecy and lies woven around a bribery and theft ring preying upon families of the prisoners at Azkaban prison._

_"One Ministry official, Alexander Nomolous, an Auror in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, told this reporter, "The ringleaders were not acting on behalf of the Ministry, which has always allowed free access to prisoners, under controlled conditions, of course."_

_"Mr. Nomolous then read a statement prepared by Minister of Magic Rufus Scrimgeour: "The Ministry, and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, both deplore the illegal actions of Aurors Morgan Agarn and Randolph Rourke in accepting bribes to allow family members to visit prisoners at Azkaban Prison. We also deeply regret the loss of items by family members during their visits. However, an intensive investigative effort by high-ranking Ministry Aurors has concluded that no Aurors at Azkaban were responsible for the theft of any items from any visiting family members. The Ministry is sorry for their loss, but cannot accept responsibility for it._

_"For their role in accepting bribes from the families of Azkaban prisoners, we are terminating the employ of Aurors Agarn and Rourke at the Ministry, effective immediately."_

* * *

"Sounds like a cover-up," Ron decided, looking at Harry as Hermione stopped reading. "I'm surprised they didn't deny the bribery charges, too."

"Just politics as usual," Ernie Macmillan, standing behind Ron near the Hufflepuff table, said pompously. "They admit just enough to seem to be taking responsibility so they can deny the bigger problems."

"I heard a rumor about it," Dean Thomas said, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "One of the Ravenclaws heard some Slytherins talking about Draco Malfoy – they said he was the one who had his mother's purse stolen late last year, and it was a _Ever-Filling_ Purse!"

There were some gasps around the table. "They had an Ever-Filling Purse?" Lavender Brown said, her eyes wide. "I hear you have to be dead rich to get one of those."

"Right," Dean agreed. "Anyway, Meg – eh, the Ravenclaw, said the Slytherins were whispering that the Malfoy's vault had lost a _lot_ of gold – several thousand Galleons, at least."

There were more gasps and low whistles along the Gryffindor table. Weirdly, Harry felt guilty about it – after all, he'd thrown the purse down on Agarn's desk after he'd passed them the bribe gold. But, he remembered as well, he _hadn't stolen the purse_. Well, technically, he _had_, when he took Malfoy's robe. But that was only incidental to him leaving it at Azkaban and whoever nicked it from there. Whoever had done that was responsible, whether it was the two Aurors whom he'd bribed, or somebody else.

There was only one thing left to trouble Harry; it was something he needed to know before he could trust Jon again: _How_ had Snape learned about the Helm of Gryffindor? Had it been from Crabbe? If that was so, why wouldn't Snape simply admit it? After all, the Crabbe family had been the original owners at one time. Or, had Snape gotten the information somehow from Ron or Hermione, without their knowledge?

Or, as he suspected, had Jon told Snape, for his own purposes? Until he learned that, he couldn't afford to trust Jon again, no matter how helpful he might otherwise turn out to be.


	27. The Marauder's Map Redrawn

Chapter 27

**THE MARAUDER'S MAP REDRAWN**

Over the next several weeks the seventh-years' N.E.W.T. studies intensified, with all their teachers loading them up with nightly homework assignments; so much so that Harry and Ron barely saw each other, even when they were together, as they often spent most of their time bent over their books and parchment scrolls.

Even Hermione, who had always enjoyed studying, found the pace grueling. "It was hard enough to get nine Outstandings in O.W.L.s," she said one night about a week after Nomolous's questioning. "I can't imagine anyone getting even three or four of them in N.E.W.T.s."

Harry looked at her, a half-grin on his face. "How many do _you_ intend to get, then?"

"Oh, well –" Harry and Ron both chuckled as she backpedaled, flustered, to correct herself. "I – well, seven, I suppose," she finally admitted.

"Thought so," Harry grinned.

"Bill got twelve O.W.L.s," Ron remembered. "And he's doing alright at Gringotts."

"Oh," Harry suddenly remembered. "That one wizard with the short, wiry grey hair – one of the Aurors that was here last week – did you see him?"

"Yes, he waited with us in the Potions classroom when the other Auror left the room for a while," Hermione said.

"He tried to stop Dumbledore from escaping from the school when Fudge and Umbridge wanted to arrest him," Harry told her. "Dumbledore remembered he got all Outstanding marks on his N.E.W.T.s. And you have to have at least five N.E.W.T.s to be an Auror."

"Well, that gives me something to aim for, doesn't it, then?" Hermione said, a confident smile forming on her lips. Harry and Ron exchanged grins themselves; there was no doubt that if it was at all possible, she would get those seven Outstanding marks.

Harry had seen little of Jonathan Crown in the last week, and he wasn't complaining. Jon had steered clear of Harry as well; apparently, no proof of his good intentions toward them would be forthcoming for some time.

Even Snape seemed to have backed off somewhat. He was no longer so obnoxious or nasty during Defense Against the Dark Arts classes as he'd been prone to during the previous school term. To be sure, even now he was still aloof, disdainful, and condescending, but all in all, Harry reflected, he much preferred the cold, distant Snape who assigned tough but halfway reasonable amounts of homework to the in-your-face Snape and his crushing surprise tests and 24-inch class essays.

The only person, it seemed, who wasn't content to leave him alone was Draco Malfoy, as Harry found out the last week of January, during a winter cold snap that had students walking through the chilly hallways and corridors of the school bundled against the cold.

Harry, Ron and Hermione had just finished an exhausting Double Defense Against the Dark Arts class with the Slytherins, their last class of the day, studying advanced Protection and Hex-Deflection spells. With some of his old nastiness, Snape had assigned the class random partners rather than their usual ones, and Harry had drawn Blaise Zabini, who'd been one of the Slytherins in Professor Slughorn's Slug Club last year. Actually, Snape had probably done them a favor, since it was much easier to throw a jinx or hex at someone you disliked rather than a friend.

He and Zabini had vigorously cast spell after spell at each other – Harry was pleased to see his own jinxes penetrating Zabini's protections more often than not, while Zabini, growing angrier and angrier with each attempt, seldom made it past Harry's.

Ron and Malfoy, paired against each other, traded more insults than hexes. ("He's actually pretty pathetic," Ron said afterwards. "He doesn't aim very well.") Hermione, paired with Millicent Bulstrode, her own Slytherin nemesis, fared much better than during their Dueling Club altercation during their second year, with Hermione consistently defeating her protection spells while Millicent was unable to penetrate Hermione's; enraged, she nearly again resorted to a headlock until Parvati and Lavender intervened with their own wands, unfortunately earning a deduction of 10 points each from Gryffindor's score for aggressive behavior.

"I wish they hadn't stopped her," Hermione snarled as they left, after class was dismissed. "I could've beat her."

"Are you kidding?" Ron looked at her incredulously. "She could rip you apart, Hermione."

"Well, why didn't _you_ step in and stop her then?"

"Because she can rip _me_ apart, too!"

As the three rounded a corner, a blur of motion slid past Harry, knocking his book bag to the floor, where several books spilled out and slid across the floor.

"Peeves!" Harry said, aggravated, as the poltergeist rose up to the ceiling and looked down at him with a malicious grin.

"Potty has been hidey-hidey," Peeves cackled. "Doesn't Potty want to play with Peevesy-Weevesy?" He laughed uproariously.

Harry grabbed his book bag off the floor along with the nearest book that had fallen out. "Go on," he said, turning to look at Ron and Hermione. "I'll catch up in a minute."

"We can stay, Harry," Hermione said nervously, shooting Peeves an irritated glare.

"Ohh, does Grangy-Wangy want to play too?" Peeves said, starting to move toward her and Ron.

"Clear off," Harry said, waving them away. "No use us all picking up our books."

"A-all right," Ron said, looking up at Peeves as well. He took Hermione by the arm and they hurried on toward the nearest staircase.

Harry had almost collected all his books when Peeves suddenly shot down toward the last one, kicking it out of his reach.

"Stop it, Peeves!" Harry said angrily. He stepped toward the book, but again Peeves knocked it away, where it fetched up against the door of a nearby girls' toilet.

Harry stopped and pulled out his wand. "I'll have that book back, Peeves," he said warningly.

"Oh," Peeves said in mock terror, "Big, bad Potty-Wotty is going to hex me again, is he?"

"Again?"

"Like you did last year? Forgotten that, have you?" Peeves landed on the book, his back to the door of the girls' toilet. "Well, Peeves hasn't forgotten."

Harry pointed his wand at the book. "Give back my book, Peeves," he said tightly.

"Say you're sorry for hexing old Peeves last year," Peeves said in a cajoling manner, "and Peeves will give back the book."

Harry bit back an angry retort. Sighing, he let his arm drop to his side. "Are you sure you'll give it back, then?" he asked wearily.

"Peeves is sure. Cross his heart and hope to die," Peeves said, making an X in front of his chest.

"Fine, then," Harry said. "I'm sorry for hexing you last year."

"Thank'ee, Potty," Peeves said, beaming. "Nice of you to be so kind to old Peevesy. And let me just say, Mr. Potter – TRICKED YOU! Peeves doesn't have a heart!" The door flew open and Peeves shot backwards, still standing on the book.

"DAMMIT, PEEVES!" Harry roared. He ran forward, slamming against the door, flinging it open as he charged into the rest room. Looking around quickly, he saw no sign of Peeves or his book. He turned and began slowly walking past the stalls, looking underneath them. The floors in the stalls were all rather grungy and foul; Harry seriously hoped Peeves hadn't thrown his book into anything unpleasant.

The bathroom door creaked open again and Harry turned, expecting to have to explain to some female student why he was in the girls' bathroom. But before he could complete his turn, a voice cried out "_Expelliarmus_!" and his wand flew from his hand, landing somewhere out of sight with a sickening _plunk_ that told him it had landed in a toilet.

Standing in front of the door, Harry realized with a gasp, was Draco Malfoy, accompanied, as always, by Crabbe and Goyle. Floating behind them, Harry saw, was Peeves, holding his book. Draco's wand was pointed directly at Harry's chest.

"Good work, Peeves," Malfoy said, gloating, while Crabbe and Goyle chuckled trollishly. "That trick worked beautifully."

"Now Potty can pay for what he did to Peeves," the poltergeist crowed, with a leering grin that made him look all too human. "Give him the hexy-hexy, Draco!"

"In good time," Draco said, smiling triumphantly. "I want to savor this moment. More importantly, Potter," he told Harry, "I want you to imagine what I'm going to do to you if you don't give me what I want."

Harry was judging the distance between them, but it was hopeless; he couldn't possibly break through them and out the door before one of them hit him with a hex or curse. More importantly, he couldn't abandon his wand where three Slytherin could get a hold of it. Harry hoped he could stall until an opportunity presented itself.

"What do you want, Malfoy?"

"What do you _think_ I want, you dolt?" Malfoy snarled, enraged at Harry's question. "_I want that Purse back_!"

"What makes you think I've got it?"

In response, Malfoy pointed his wand and said "_Telumus_!" An arrow shot from his wand and embedded itself in the stall door Harry was standing next to.

"Don't play games with me, Potter!" Malfoy said in a dangerous tone. "There's almost _three thousand Galleons_ gone missing from our vault since you took it!"

"I don't need your money!" Harry shouted back. "I've got enough gold to last me for years!"

"Of course you do! From _our vault_!" Malfoy spat back. He, Crabbe and Goyle advanced a step, and Harry stepped back instinctively.

Peeves slid closer as well, cackling "Hexy, hexy, cursey cursey!"

Furious at the distraction, Malfoy spun, pointing his wand at the poltergeist as he shouted, "Damn it, you ruddy spook! Get out of –"

Harry charged forward.

He slammed into Malfoy's shoulder, knocking him into Crabbe and grabbing at the wand in Malfoy's outstretched hand. He got it, but a crack in the stone floor caught his foot and sent him sprawling. Goyle, who had stepped back, startled by Harry's charge, now grunted angrily and aimed a kick at Harry's midsection.

Harry rolled away and pointed Malfoy's wand at Goyle as he advanced for another kick, shouting "_Levicorpus_!" Goyle flipped end-for-end into the air, suspended by his ankle.

Malfoy and Crabbe were disentangling themselves as Crabbe fumbled for his wand. They were both gripping it when Harry pointed Malfoy's wand and said "_Expelliarmus_!" Crabbe's wand flew into the air, landing in the far corner of the room. Both Crabbe and Malfoy scrambled toward it as Harry said "_Accio Wand_!" His wand flew out of a nearby stall and into his hand.

Harry then pointed both wands at Crabbe and Malfoy, who had almost reached the corner and Crabbe's wand, and said "_Aguamenti_!" spraying both of them with jets of cold water while they sputtered and tried to shield their faces.

Quickly pocketing Malfoy's wand, Harry shouted "_Accio Crabbe's Wand_!" and it flew past the cowering Malfoy and Crabbe; Harry caught it in his free hand. A sudden motion made him turn quickly toward Goyle, but the inverted Slytherin student's wand had dropped to the floor and he was groping wildly for it though it remained just out of his reach.

Raucous laughter assaulted his ears; Harry turned and looked behind and above him where Peeves was guffawing hysterically. "Haa-haha-haaaw!" The poltergeist rolled about on the ceiling, pointing at the upside down Goyle and the sopping, bedraggled Malfoy and Crabbe. "Lookit the big, bad Slytheries! Little Potty-Wotty sure made them all wet! Hee-hehe-heee!"

"You've got to be kidding me!" Harry said loudly, and Peeves stopped laughing and stared down at him. "D'you think this is a _joke_, to sic Malfoy and his thugs on me because you got back some of what you give out every day?"

Peeves giggled one last time, then picked himself up off the ceiling and floated down to a spot level with Harry's head. Reaching into his coat, he pulled out Harry's book and dropped it on the floor in front of Harry.

"Lighten up, Potty-Wotty," he said with a shrill chuckle, "You'll get worry lines." He zoomed backwards through the wall and out of sight.

Heaving a sigh, Harry turned around to survey the scene: Goyle was hanging by his ankle a few feet from Harry, still trying to reach his wand, while Malfoy and Crabbe were leaning up against the far wall, sopping wet. Pointing his wand one final time, Harry collected Goyle's wand as well.

"HARRY POTTER!" A voice suddenly screeched, right behind him. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN HERE!" Putting his hands up to cover his now-throbbing ears, Harry turned to see a furious Moaning Myrtle glaring at him, her pearly-white, translucent features twisted with rage. "NOBODY IS SUPPOSED TO BE IN HERE MESSING UP THIS BATHROOM BUT ME!"

"Sorry, Myrtle," Harry said, feeling bad for the temperamental ghost. His apologetic demeanor softened Myrtle's anger somewhat. She looked at Malfoy and the other Slytherins, recognition dawning as she saw Malfoy's sharp, pale features under the sheen of water.

"Oooh. It's _you_ again," she said, softening even more. "You're not trying to kill each other in my toilet again, are you?"

But it appeared, however, that Malfoy didn't want either Crabbe or Goyle knowing he'd ever talked to Myrtle. "You stupid ghost," he said, standing up and flapping his arms to throw off excess water; it rained down on Crabbe, who covered up again.

"I don't care _whose_ bathroom this is supposed to be," he said contemptuously. "You don't have any business speaking to _us_."

The effect of Malfoy's speech on Myrtle was dramatic: she floated stock-still for several moments then, with a loud wail, sailed into the air and down one of the toilets with such force that it exploded, sending a geyser of water and porcelain into the air. Suddenly and unexpectedly all of the other toilets, and the basins as well, began spraying water into the air.

"Get out of here!" Harry shouted, and ran for the door, dropping Goyle to the floor with a shouted "_Liberacorpus_!" as he ran past the upended Slytherin. He, Crabbe and Malfoy scrambled through the door behind Harry.

Several dozen students had gathered outside the door to listen to the commotion going on inside. Harry even caught a fleeting glimpse of Mrs. Norris scampering silently away, no doubt to alert Filch to the disaster. Malfoy may have seen her too, because he took a threatening step toward Harry and demanded, "We'll have our wands, Potter. Now!"

"And what if I refuse?" Harry snapped, making no move to hand them over.

"Then as Head Boy I'll begin deducting points from Gryffindor until you do."

"What is going on here?" Professor Snape had suddenly appeared, looking astounded at the devastation he was seeing. "_What is going on in there_?" he demanded again, indicating the girls' toilet, which was now showing signs of real damage as water had begun flowing underneath the door.

"Let me get this straight," Snape said slowly, his dark eyes drilling into Draco's. "Potter attacked the three of you in this –" Snape pointed to the bathroom door "– toilet? Is that what you're telling me, Draco?"

Draco looked somewhat abashed, as if hearing it the way Snape said it made it sound less than believable. Nevertheless, he put his hands on his hips, assuming a pose that dared Snape to contradict him, and said, "Yes, sir, that's what I'm saying."

Snape looked silently from Malfoy, to Harry, then at Crabbe and Goyle. Closing his eyes, he squeezed the bridge of his long nose between thumb and forefinger.

"Mr. Malfoy," Snape finally said, wearily, "that must be the singularly most unbelievable story I've ever heard you concoct to avoid punishment."

Malfoy, Goyle and Crabbe's mouths all fell open in shock. Several students looked at each other in wide-eyed shock. Snape, failing to back up the Slytherins he always bent the rules for?

"However," Snape continued, throwing them all a flinty look. "It is clear that you were all fighting, something that cannot be tolerated here at Hogwarts. Ten points is deducted from Slytherin. Apiece."

Malfoy was speechless with astonishment and outrage. Harry smiled grimly. Thirty points from Slytherin, not bad, he thought.

"And because Potter was the clear instigator of this brawl, twenty points will be deducted from Gryffindor," Snape finished smoothly, his eyes flashing as he glared at Harry.

Murmurs of outrage rippled through the students standing about. "Unfair!" one Hufflepuff, a third-year boy whose name Harry didn't remember, shouted at Snape.

"What is going on?" Headmistress McGonagall arrived. "I was just given a report there'd been a disturbance down –" she stopped, staring in shock at the water pouring out from under the door of the girls' toilet "– here…"

"An unfortunate altercation between students with too much spare time on their hands," Snape said dismissively. "It's been dealt with, Headmistress."

"Unfairly!" one of the Ravenclaw students spoke up. "The professor penalized Gryffindor almost as much as Slytherin even though he _knew_ the Slytherins were lying about what happened!"

McGonagall turned to Snape, her eyes narrow, glasses glinting in the flickering torchlight. She turned to Harry. "Tell me what happened," she said.

Harry went through the events that led up to their arrival in the corridor several minutes before; McGonagall repeated the question for Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle. At the end of it, she held out her hand.

"Let me see their wands," she commanded. Harry reached into his robe pocket and produced the three wands.

There was a sound of running footsteps and Argus Filch came stomping up, cursing luridly. The sight of Professor McGonagall, however, brought him up short.

"Ah – er, good afternoon, Headmistress," he stammered, abashed. "What, uh, seems to be the problem here?"

Sparing Filch only a momentary glance, McGonagall strode over to the toilet door, waving her wand so it flew open for her, then stepped inside and gestured at the still-spurting toilets and water basins. All of them immediately stopped shooting water and the toilet that had burst when Myrtle dived down its drain flew back together.

"Mr. Filch," she said calmly as she reappeared in the corridor. "Please clean up the excess water. And," she added, gazing at him sternly, "in the future I would appreciate it if you didn't attend to you duties with quite so colorful a vocabulary."

"Yes'm," Filch said, then hastened away to get a mop and bucket, Mrs. Norris at his heels.

McGonagall walked over to Snape and handed him the three wands. "I trust you will attend to any detentions you see fit to hand out, Professor Snape," she said, raising an eyebrow archly.

Snape matched her eyebrow. "I see no reason to give out detentions," he said easily. "I have deducted points from both Slytherin and Gryffindor, as I saw fit to do."

"Excellent," McGonagall said. "Then in similar fashion I will make some adjustments as well." Snape inclined his head fractionally in acknowledgement of the head's prerogative.

"I award thirty points to Gryffindor for a well-conducted defense that caused no lasting damage and left no student seriously hurt."

The students in the corridor burst into spontaneous applause. "Silence!" Snape shouted. The clapping quickly died away and Snape, turning back to McGonagall, said disbelievingly, "Surely we cannot ignore the damage done, Headmistress –"

"Done by Myrtle, not by Harry, Severus," McGonagall reminded him.

"But –" Snape began to protest.

"I'll hear no more of it," McGonagall cut him off. "You've made your assessment and I've made mine. Shall we leave it at that, or would you prefer we have a full review of each of these boys' actions in my office tomorrow morning?"

"No," Snape said quietly. "That will not be necessary, Headmistress." He turned, gesturing for the Slytherins to follow him, and they departed.

McGonagall turned to Harry. "Get your books and follow me, Mr. Potter," she told him. Harry walked over and picked up his book bag from where it had fallen in the corridor, then, remembering, walked back into Myrtle's toilet and retrieved his last book, now soggy with the water that had spilled during the geysers.

He was still holding it as he walked up to McGonagall. "Tsk," she said, and tapped it lightly with her wand, saying "_Reparo_," softly. The book immediately dried out, its pages and binding unwarping back to its original condition.

"Fine. Now follow me," she said. She led Harry back to where the stone gargoyle stood guarding the entrance to the Head's Office. "Montrose Magpies," she said; the gargoyle leapt aside and the wall split open to reveal the spiral staircase. McGonagall gesture for Harry to take the stairs, and she stepped on behind him.

"Do you fancy the Magpies, Professor McGonagall?" Harry asked as they took the staircase upwards to her office.

"I try not to play favorites, Mr. Potter," she said, looking back at him with a mildly disapproving frown. "However," she added, "there are a few teams I enjoy watching."

They reached the top of the moving staircase and entered the Head's office. Nothing had changed much since the last time Harry was here. McGonagall gestured toward a small table with two chairs on either side of it, and Harry sat down in one; McGonagall took the other.

"It's been some time, Potter," she said carefully, "since we've had a chance to talk."

Harry nodded silently. It hadn't escaped his notice that neither Professor McGonagall nor anyone else from the Order of the Phoenix had contacted him since he first returned to Hogwarts. He no longer counted Snape as a member of the Order; in fact it was unclear, even now, what his status was with Lupin and the other members. As far as Harry was concerned, however, he would never forgive Snape for killing Professor Dumbledore, however necessary he, Snape, or anyone else might claim it had been.

"If you'll recall," McGonagall continued, "the first time you and I met here, after Dumbledore's … passing," she said finally. "I asked you what you and he had been doing that evening."

Harry remained silent, but nodded once again.

"Since that time, circumstances have changed. Remus has informed me of what you and Dumbledore were up to that night," McGonagall's eyes bored into Harry's. "While I … understand what Albus was doing, however, I am sorry to say I can't approve of it."

Harry shrugged. "I have to do what I believe is right, Professor McGonagall," he said earnestly. "Isn't that the choice Professor Dumbledore always spoke of – the choice between what is right, and what is easy?"

McGonagall looked unhappy, but she nodded as well. "It is a quandary, Minerva," another voice said, coming from across the room. Harry and McGonagall both turned toward McGonagall's desk where, encased in a golden frame on the wall behind it, hung Albus Dumbledore's portrait; Dumbledore himself was smiling benignly at them. "I myself was often confounded with the problem of protecting my students while trying to instill in them the need for independent thinking."

"As I've come to understand as well, Albus," McGonagall sighed. She turned to Harry, her eyes filling with emotion. "I am proud of you, Harry," she said, very clearly and sincerely, "for the task you've undertaken. I wish I knew of another way to accomplish it."

"I do, too," Harry said, a ghost of a smile on his lips, one which both McGonagall and Dumbledore's portrait echoed.

McGonagall sighed deeply, then suddenly rose to her feet. "I do have another reason for bringing you here, Potter," she said, her manner once again crisp and businesslike. "Someone would like to speak with you."

"Professor Dumbledore?" Harry said, rising as well and turning to the portrait of the former headmaster. But Dumbledore was not there, the chair was empty. McGonagall, turning to it as well, was not smiling.

"Yes," she said, disapproval in her voice. "And," she added, loudly enough, perhaps, for her voice to carry to wherever Dumbledore was, "although I am not happy that secrets are being kept from me even within my own office, because it is Albus Dumbledore…"

Instead of finishing, McGonagall moved toward the door. "I will be downstairs when you're finished here, Mr. Potter. Please be quick about it." The door shut behind her.

Harry looked back and forth between Dumbledore's portrait and the door, feeling torn. Surely at least Professor McGonagall, of all people in this school, would know about Horcruxes, could be trusted just as Hermione, Ron and he were…

"Ah, Harry, you're here!" Professor Dumbledore had stepped into frame, and Harry turned to face him with a mixture of relief and apprehension. What could be so important that a former Headmaster would usurp, even temporarily, this office from its current holder?

"Hello, Professor," Harry said, trying to smile. "How are you, sir?"

"Very well, Harry, thank you," Dumbledore said with a nod. "It has been some time since we saw each other last, has it not?"

"Er – yes, it has," Harry said, uncertainly. Did Dumbledore mean while he was alive, or was he speaking of the picture of himself?

"How have your efforts to locate Voldemort's Horcruxes gone?" Dumbledore asked, his tone now serious.

Harry hesitated only a moment before answering truthfully. "Not well," he admitted. "Although we have discovered that the Helm of Gryffindor, thought to be a legend, actually exists and was in the possession of the Crabbe family until about 30 years ago."

Dumbledore looked quite interested at this. "Do you suspect it to be a Horcrux, Harry?"

"It was taken from the Crabbes by Lucius Malfoy's father in return for a large amount of gold."

Dumbledore smiled broadly, looking delighted. "Ah! Splendid news, Harry! I'd always wondered whether I'd come across the Helm of Gryffindor in my search for the Founders' artifacts. It appears that you, instead, were destined to find it."

"It was Hermione who found it, actually," Harry demurred.

"Indeed?" Dumbledore looked pleased to hear this. "She has been quite the resourceful young witch, hasn't she?"

"Yes, sir."

"And what of the other Horcruxes?" Dumbledore pressed. "I take it you've had some difficulty there?"

"Yes," Harry said. It was not easy admitting this – he knew Dumbeldore was counting on him to find them.

"Have you been out searching for more clues where Voldemort has been seen or known to have been?"

"Er –" Harry didn't want to say what kinds of things they'd been up to for the last six months. "We've – we've been looking for clues in the school Library," Harry said, to show Dumbledore they had been trying. "That's how Hermione found the Helm."

"I see." Dumbledore gazed intently at Harry over his half-moon spectacles. "Harry, I apologize."

"For what?" Harry said, dumbfounded at the former Headmaster's apology. "You didn't do anything, sir."

"I left you ill-prepared for the task ahead of you, I'm afraid," Dumbledore said, sighing heavily. "I did not completely anticipate the potency of Voldemort's potion in the cave – it drained me quite beyond my expectations, and I wasn't able to give you something you yet need in your pursuit of Voldemort's Horcruxes."

"What's that, sir?" Harry asked.

"Come closer," Dumbledore urged him. Harry stepped up to his portrait. "This picture, Harry, like the one that hangs before the opening to Gryffindor Tower, may be opened with the proper password. Behind it, you'll find a small compartment with a book you'll need to help you dispose of Voldemort's Horcruxes. I regret I was not able to convey to you, at the beginning of the school year, my intent to have you retrieve it."

Understanding dawned on Harry. So that was what Dumbledore had been staring at him so intently for, the last time he was here! "Can you tell me what the password is, sir?"

"In a moment, Harry. I'll be brief, as Professor McGonagall is no doubt most anxious to return to her office." Dumbledore permitted himself a small, rueful smile. "I do regret keeping secrets from her, but she would no doubt attempt to dissuade you from your quest."

"I won't be dissuaded, sir," Harry said earnestly. Talking to Dumbledore had revitalized him and renewed his resolve to see his task on to completion, come what may.

"I believe you, Harry," Dumbledore said, nodding gravely. "But even the best-laid plans oft go astray. Professor McGonagall, or any of the Order, in fact, would attempt to persuade you to allow them to help you in your quest, and while their intentions would be well-meaning, we both know how difficult it is to keep a secret once more than a few people know of it.

"Now, if you will, the password is 'nitwit.' "

Harry repeated the word, and Dumbledore's portrait swung aside. As it did so, a section of the stone wall behind it retracted and slid aside, revealing the compartment Dumbledore had spoken about.

Reaching in, Harry removed a single item, a large tome bound in faded black leather. The title, nearly unreadable, was _Secrets of the Darkest Art_. "That book," Dumbledore's voice said from the other side of the portrait, "is the book Tom Riddle used to learn how a Horcrux was made. I removed it from the Restricted section of the Library after I became Headmaster, and placed it in that compartment. It will also tell you what a Horcrux is vulnerable to. Guard it well, Harry." The portrait swung closed and Dumbledore's image regarded Harry soberly.

"I – I will, sir," Harry said, looking at the book with a mixture of awe and disgust. "But… how will I get it past Professor McGonagall? It's a rather large book – it will be difficult to hide it under my robe."

"In that case, I would advise a stealthy approach to the situation," Dumbledore said, giving Harry a knowing look. When Harry continued to look confused, Dumbledore asked, "Do you have your Invisibility Cloak with you?"

"Oh," Harry said. "Of course." He took the Cloak out from under his robe and draped it over himself, but then turned back to Dumbledore. "Sir, I have to ask you a question."

"What is it, Harry?"

"_Why_ did you trust Snape? He betrayed and murdered you! What could he have possibly done to earn your confidence?"

Dumbledore sighed. "_Professor_ Snape, Harry. And that must remain between him and myself, even now."

"But –"

"Harry, please. A promise is a promise, and in some cases they must remain in place even though we leave the world behind. If it is ever meant that you should know, it will be given to you.

"For now, however, you have a piece of the puzzle, and soon, I hope, more pieces will begin to fall into place. Remember my words, Harry – they may yet come in handy, the next time you need something from me. Take care."

Harry regarded Dumbeldore silently for several moments before he realized he'd been dismissed. Nodding, he slid the Invisibility Cloak over himself, then exited the office and went down the spiral staircase, avoiding Professor McGonagall as she looked stepped inside as the entrance opened at the bottom. "Potter?" she called as Harry stole away down the corridor. "Are you up there? Potter!"

Harry went back to the Gryffindor common room where he found Hermione and Ron, who'd heard about the fight and him going off with McGonagall. He told them of his conversation with Dumbledore and produced the book he'd been given. Hermione quickly flipped through the pages, looking nauseated as well as intrigued. "This will help quite a bit when we actually find one," she said softly. "But we still haven't gotten very far on that front."

"I know," Harry said, feeling frustrated Dumbledore couldn't give them more help. "At least we're not completely ignorant, now."

"I wonder if there's any good hexes in there," Ron said, nodding at the book in front of Hermione. "In case Malfoy tries to ambush you again."

"I think I did okay holding them off," Harry said with a small smile. "Besides, I don't intend to walk into any more girls' toilets, no matter _who's_ trying to get me in there!"

That Saturday, as Harry was walking toward the Quidditch pitch for one of their practices, he met Ginny going the same way and asked her about the parchment scroll. "You hadn't heard of it?" she said, surprised. "It went up the day after that business with the Aurors snooping around the school – but no one heard a word about it until we started asking Professor Tonks about it in Transfiguration class. She wasn't to keen to talk about it, either, but she told us that only the seventh-years needed to worry about it, since only they had weekend liberty."

After practice was over, Harry wandered into the entrance hall to check out the scroll Lupin had told him about. It was hanging in a glass-covered frame on the wall next to the liberty logbook. A large list of names and the year they were in was written on the parchment in shining black ink. Examining it carefully, he saw his name and year

**Potter, Harry James – seventh year**

written between "_Perks, Sally-Ann – seventh year_" and "_Pritchard, Graham Ernest – fourth year_."

"Found your name, have you, Potter?" a voice behind Harry said gruffly; he turned to see Argus Filch shuffling up, with his cat, Mrs. Norris, at his heels. "Yes, indeed," the hunchbacked caretaker said, a smug, self-satisfied smile on his lips, "this will make my job a lot easier – and yours a lot harder!"

"Er – what do you mean, 'my job?' " Harry asked, perplexed.

"Sneaking out of the castle is what I mean," Filch growled. "Oh you needn't try to deny it, Potter – you and your friends have been sneaking out on weekends, gallivanting all over England. There were rumors a' plenty, mind you! But Headmistress McGonagall said we must give you the benefit of the doubt. Feh!" He caressed the frame, staring at the names, then looked at Harry maliciously. "Well, this'll leave _no doubt_, you mark my words!"

"How does it work?" Harry asked, wondering if Filch could tell him anything, even accidentally, that would be a clue to how to defeat the scroll's enchantment.

Filch snorted. "Simple enough," he said, waving toward it with a gnarled hand. "Look there, at the top of the second row," and Harry saw that the name there, "_Goldstein, Anthony Edward – seventh year_," was rather more gray than black; in fact, it was barely distinguishable from the pale parchment itself.

"A name that's nearly faded shows that the student has left the grounds," Filch said, shuffling over to the stand where the liberty logbook stood open. He looked over the page, finally stabbing the same name written there with a crooked fingertip. "Goldstein's signed out, see?" he said, scowling at Harry. "If I catch someone who's name's like that on the parchment and ain't signed out, I fetch Headmistress McGonagall or one of the other teachers and we both log it in the book." He smiled nastily. "A few of those in this book and even McGonagall's prized students will be out on their ears."

Harry said nothing, but merely looked at the parchment and the logbook.

"Thinking of having a go, then, Potter?" Filch said, eyeing him with some inner glee. "It would do this old man's heart good to turn you out of here – you and that lot of ungrateful, rule-breaking hooligans you call friends." He chuckled, a low guttural rasping, with Mrs. Norris, at his heels, mewing as if joining in his amusement, then turned and shuffled away.

"Thanks for sharing that," Harry said under his breath as Filch left the entrance hall.

Today was Round Nine of the Vault Tournament, the first of the year, and while Ron had talked hopefully of making the trip to Diagon Alley, Harry still hadn't had the opportunity to talk to Jon _or_ to come up with a plan to get around the enchanted parchment.

Ron hadn't taken not going to the Tournament well – he'd sulked through breakfast the disappeared back upstairs to "study something," he'd said, though Harry doubted it had anything to do with schoolwork or N.E.W.T.s. At Quidditch practice, his performance had been lackluster, and he'd disappeared again immediately after changing out of his uniform robe.

By Sunday evening at dinner, they had hardly seen Ron that weekend – he'd only appeared at mealtimes, barely long enough to eat a plateful of food. He would sit sullenly across the Gryffindor table from Harry and Hermione, sketching idly on a scrap of parchment with a charcoal pencil, not even looking up at them, then disappearing again when they both got up after eating.

"_Why_ is he acting like this?" Hermione fretted as they walked back toward Gryffindor Tower. "Surely he realizes it wouldn't be a smart idea to travel to Diagon Alley in any case, not so soon after the Ministry's investigations."

"Yeah, he's acting like a real prat," Harry agreed.

"I didn't say _that_, Harry," Hermione said, rounding on him.

"Alright, alright," Harry conceded, trying not to be annoyed. "I just meant that he's not acting like his normal cheerful, happy self."

Hermione laughed, in spite of herself, and Harry smiled. "Really, though," he added in all sincerity, "I don't know what's up with him and this Vault – it's almost like he's obsessing over it."

"He talks about it a lot when we're alone together," Hermione confided, lowering her voice. "Sometimes it's been even more important to him than … well…"

"Snogging?" Harry finished matter-of-factly. Hermione blushed, but nodded. Harry didn't say anything, but he supposed it was a good sign that they were getting on well enough that they still fancied snogging each other.

Settling in at an unoccupied table, they began going through homework assignments for Transfiguration, Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts. It was slow going, made worse for Harry by the absence of Ron interjecting humorous comments during some of Hermione's more prolonged explanations of their reading assignments and the homework questions.

Just when Harry felt he was ready to nod off at the table from exhaustion at trying to grasp any of Hermione's many comments on their homework, the common room portrait swung open and Ron climbed through the entrance, still carrying the parchment scraps he'd been drawing on earlier. Spotting them, he started to turn away, toward the boys' dormitory staircase, and Harry felt Hermione sag next to him; but a moment later Ron reversed himself and, slouching over to stand in front of the table, said, "Hey."

"Hey," Harry said in return. Hermione looked at him expectantly, a small but hopeful smile on her face.

"Sorry," Ron said. "I shouldn't be acting like this."

"We know," Harry said, then added "Ouch!" as Hermione kicked his leg.

"Are you feeling better?" she inquired sardonically of Ron; but she no longer sounding annoyed with him. "Thought it through and all that?"

"Yeah," Ron said, looking at the ground. "I just really wanted to go today."

"Hopefully we can make it next time," Harry said, really hoping he could keep his promise.

"What were you drawing earlier?" Hermione asked, indicating the parchment pieces Ron was carrying.

"Just some things I was remembering about the clock Uncle Archie build for Mum and Dad," Ron said, putting the scraps in front of them. Harry looked; Ron had come up with some decent illustrations of the Weasley clock, with its nine hands and locations rather than numerals around the face edge. He'd done a very detailed job, as if he'd been looking at the clock itself rather than working from memory.

"These are quite good, Ron!" Hermione said, impressed. "I didn't know you could draw this well."

"I guess I hadn't thought about it," Ron said, shrugging.

"Do you want to study some?" Hermione asked brightly. Harry's head fell forward onto the table. "Oh, stop it, Harry!"

"No, I'm beat," Ron said. "I'm going to go to bed."

"All right, then," Hermione said, sounding a trifle disappointed.

"I am, too," Harry added, standing up and gathering his books into his book bag.

"Fine, I may as well call it a night as well," Hermione gave in.

In their dormitory, Harry and Ron changed into pajamas and crawled into their beds. "Good night, Harry," Ron said, and rolled over without any more comment.

"Night," Harry said, taking off his glasses and placing them on the bedside cabinet. Ron was usually chatty after apologizing for bad behavior; but it was late and Dean, Seamus and Neville were already sleeping. Harry rolled over and fell fast asleep within minutes.

He was dreaming of a long corridor, somewhere in the school. It was dimly lit, and there was a dark figure standing at the far end, beckoning him forward. "Come," the figure was saying, and while Harry didn't want to, he found himself inexorably drawn forward, as if against his will. "Come," the voice said again, indistinct and echoing in the long corridor. "Come to me."

Harry looked down. He could see his feet, shuffling slowly, haltingly, as if against his will, drawn forward by the echoing voice that continued to urge him forward. "Come to me!"

It was almost as if he were emptied of will, Harry thought, watching his feet plodding forward. _Emptied of will_ – that phrase evoked memories of the time he had felt exactly this way, when he had felt there was no choice but to obey, even though he did not want to. "_Come to me_," the voice beat into his brain, now so close that he recognized the voice and looked up into the face of – Snape.

Harry jerked upright, awakened by the shock of seeing Snape so suddenly. He sat unmoving for several moments, listening to the sounds of his classmates breathing or snoring. He could hear everyone except – Ron. Looking over at his bed, Harry was surprised to see it empty, the covers rolled back as if Ron had suddenly leapt up out of bed. Perhaps he'd had to pay a call to the bathroom. Harry rolled out of bed and checked, but Ron was nowhere to be found in their room or in the nearest bathroom.

Curious, as well as a bit unnerved by his dream and wanting to talk about it, Harry padded down to the common room. It was empty, but something near the exit caught his eye: picking it up, Harry found that it was one of Ron's slippers. Had he left the common room with only one slipper on? Harry started to push the portrait open, but with a sudden inspiration he dashed back upstairs and retrieved his Invisibility Cloak. He draped it over himself and went through the portrait hole to corridor beyond.

An immediate problem presented itself: How could he guess where Ron might be in this entire castle? How long ago had Ron left Gryffindor Tower? He could be anywhere. How could Harry, in his wildest dreams, expect to guess where –

His _dreams_!

It was so obvious Harry could have kicked himself for not seeing it immediately. What if he'd seen in his dream what _Ron_, not he himself, was doing? He went cold at the idea – it meant that Snape was involved, somehow, and not in a good way. He'd have to guess quickly where Ron might be. Harry concentrated, trying to remember details of the corridor. His memories were fuzzy already, but he could think of one spot close by with a long corridor. Hurrying as quickly as he could without making any noise, Harry set out for the corridor with the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy.

Nearing the corridor, his breath caught as he heard, unmistakably, Snape's voice. Even under the Invisibility Cloak, Harry was cautious as he leaned around the corner. Standing not far away he saw both Snape, facing away from him and Ron, with a slipper missing from his foot, looking dully at Snape. Snape's lighted wand was held aloft, casting long shadows toward Harry. He still wasn't sure if Snape had found a way to see through his Invisibility Cloak, but he could hear the conversation well enough where he was.

"Are you sure there's nothing else to report?" Snape whispered harshly as Harry listened. Ron's face, in the light of Snape's wand, was slack, expressionless, as if he were sleepwalking. _Or Imperiused_, Harry added, grimly.

"No," Ron replied dully. "We went nowhere this past week."

"Do you plan to go anywhere in the next week? Diagon Alley? Azkaban? Anywhere?" It appeared Snape was fishing for information.

"Harry said we might try to go to Diagon Alley for the next round of the Vault Tournamnt."

"Are you sure you don't know what Potter and Granger are up to?" The question sounded as if Snape had asked it before. "It could be important to the Order to know what they're planning."

Harry felt himself tense; his hand had gone, unbidden, to his wand. If Snape did not already know about Voldemort's Horcruxes, Ron could reveal their most closely guarded secret.

But he stood mute, shaking his head. If Snape believed any different, he said nothing.

"Typical of Potter," Snape muttered, more to himself than Ron. "He's either walking about in a daze, waiting for the Dark Lord to reappear, or he's running about fighting useless battles everywhere between Hogwarts and London."

Harry bridled at the remark, but let his hand relax from his wand.

"What about the American, Crown?" Snape continued. "Do you think he knows something of what Potter's plans are?"

"I don't know," Ron replied. "But we haven't been talking to him for the past few weeks. Harry thinks he knows something he's not telling us about whether You-Know-Who will succeed in his quest soon."

"Ridiculous," Snape said shortly. "He's just posturing for that backwards girlfriend of his. He knows nothing more of the Dark Lord's true quest than Potter does."

"I don't know," Ron repeated, dully.

"That much is obvious," Snape sneered. "Very well. Keep pressing for a visit to Diagon Alley. I believe I can arrange for a suitable greeting for you there.

"What if we can't figure out a way around the Naming Scroll?" Ron asked.

"Well then you won't be going to Diagon Alley to try and figure out that Vault, will you?" Snape sneered, and Ron hung his head, intimidated. "Besides, Potter had the Marauder's Map all of those years – didn't he ever figure out how _it_ worked? The principles are nearly the same." Snape's voice became gloating. "I wonder what Potter would think if he learned that it was I, not Lupin, who solved the greatest problem of the Map – how to plot an Unplottable section of land." Harry's eyes grew wide in shock. Could that be true?

"And stop playing the misunderstood teenager in school," Snape went on. "We don't want your little friends to start worrying about you, and asking questions – they may find out what you've been doing for me these last few months."

_Months?_ Harry thought furiously, almost grinding his teeth in anger. _Snape's had Ron Imperiused for _months?

"As usual," Snape finished, sounding perfunctory. "You will not remember this conversation. You will continue to obey the commands I've given you. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Back to your bed, then, and be careful not to wake anyone. If you do, tell them you've just been to the bathroom."

Ron turned, walking back down the corridor toward Gryffindor Tower, while Snape turned and strode away in the opposite direction, extinguishing his wand as he did so. Harry hurried ahead of Ron, taking a shortcut, and arrived at the portrait of the Fat Lady perhaps a half-minute ahead of him. Pulling off the Cloak, he gave her the password, then hurried through and dashed up the staircase to his dormitory room. He flung the Invisibility Cloak under his bed and slid beneath the covers. By the time Ron slipped into the room a minute later, Harry was breathing softly and steadily, as if he'd been fast asleep the entire time Ron was gone.

But Harry's mind was whirling feverishly with what he'd learned this night. Ron, Imperiused by Snape and giving him their secrets! He would have to tell Hermione – and Jon, and Ginny, and Fred and George, so they could guard their speech around him, at least until they worked out what to do about it.

What Snape said about Jon also made Harry realize that the American probably wasn't as much of a threat to them as he'd thought. If Snape thought he was on the wrong track, then he probably wasn't working with Voldemort or other Death Eaters, or even the centaurs. If that was the case, then, they might be able to use his help, if he'd give it, figuring out what to do about Ron.

The next morning, Monday, Ron was like a new man in class – smiling, cheerful and talkative. Hermione was thrilled, of course, but Harry, who knew why his attitude had changed so suddenly, was less enthusiastic about it. He would have to tell her, and soon, what was up with Ron.

Unfortunately, with Ron's new outlook on life, Hermione and he began spending more time with each other outside of classes. Harry, who normally would have been happy to leave them alone for a while, began hovering around Ron all the times he was near Hermione, ready to divert the conversation if it began to lead into discussions of Horcruxes, at least until he figured out what to do about Snape controlling him.

At least, Harry thought, he hadn't had a chance to dicuss the book he'd gotten from Dumbledore yet with Ron, so there was no chance he could betray its existence to Hermione. He did show it to Hermione, however, and together they studied the various aspects of Horcruxes, how to create them and, most importantly, how to destroy them. He also managed to impress on Hermione the importance of not mentioning the book or its contents to Ron without explaining why, though he'd had to suggest that Ron didn't really need to know.

His previous animosity toward Jon wasn't helping much now, either. Jon and Deirdre usually disappeared after the classes they had together, or he would dash off to find her after the ones he had with Harry, Ron and Hermione. It wasn't until Wednesday in Defense Against the Dark Arts class that Harry managed to pass Jon a note asking him to meet later that evening in the Gryffindor common room, at midnight, after everyone else had gone to bed. Jon read the note, then looked at Harry for a long time before nodding.

Now, just after midnight, Harry pushed off his covers and slipped out of bed. He'd slid on a pair of jeans under the covers and was wearing a T-shirt. Neville, Dean, Seamus and Ron were all asleep.

Moving silently, Harry once again removed his Invisibility Cloak from his trunk and put it on. He also retrieved another item from his trunk, a book. Harry then closed and locked his trunk and padded down the staircase to the common room. It was empty; apparently Jon had not come down yet. But he had barely settled into one of the room's comfortable overstuffed chintz chairs when the Fat Lady's portrait swung open and he entered the common room, still carrying his book bag from classes earlier that day.

Jon looked slowly around the room in the dim lamplight, then walked up to the chair where Harry was sitting, still covered with his Invisibility Cloak. "Hi, Harry," he said in a low voice.

Harry slipped off the Cloak. "How did you know I was here? Can you see through Invisibility Cloaks?"

"No, just a guess," Jon said. He pointed from the chair to the portrait opening. "It was a good place for you to sit and wait for me." He looked at Harry. "What did you want to meet for?"

"I wanted to say – I'm sorry," Harry said seriously. "I started to think you were using Ron, Hermione and me, getting information from us to give to the centaurs, helping Voldemort."

Jon shook his head. "Harry, like I've said, I'm not your enemy."

"I know that now. I found out –" he hesitated, almost sick to say it aloud "— I found out that Snape put Ron under the Imperius Curse several months ago."

Jon looked stunned. "A Hogwarts teacher, using Unforgivable Curses on students?"

"We've told you what else he's done," Harry said in an argumentative tone. "He's acted dodgy the entire time I've been here at Hogwarts! Even Professor Lupin, who's always defended him because Dumbledore, our previous Headmaster, trusted him, no longer believes he's on our side. He _murdered_ Dumbledore, right in front of me!"

"Alright, I believe you," Jon said. "The question is, do you feel you can trust me now?"

Harry nodded.

"Because," Jon continued, "it's going to be difficult to even leave this school anymore, much less travel to Diagon Alley and back."

"I know," Harry said. "And we still have to figure a way around the Naming Scroll."

"I checked out the Naming Scroll a few days ago," Jon said. "It might not be easy to get around – except for one thing."

"What's that?" Harry asked, interested.

"This," Jon said, pulling a book from his book bag and handing it to Harry. Harry looked at the book. It was neatly bound in black leather, but there was no title on the cover.

"Open it," Jon said. Harry opened the cover and read the title page:

**The Making of the  
Marauder's Map  
**By Remus Lupin

_As Tramslated  
and Extended  
_By Jonathan Crown

"What's this about?" Harry asked. Jon quickly explained about their finding the chartered accountancy book the clue left in Fred's hollow bedpost, and how they'd discovered it was really Lupin's description of how the Marauders had build the Marauder's Map.

"Amazing!" Harry said, impressed all over again. "But what do you mean by 'translated' and 'extended?' "

"All the text in the book beyond the Introduction was written in ancient runes," said Jon. "That's probably why Fred and George never knew anything about the Map beyond its basic operation. But I was able to translate the text and make a copy that wouldn't disappear every night back to the Library."

Harry was flipping through the pages of the book. There were diagrams, illustrations showing how the Map had been assembled, and spells written in languages Harry had never seen before. "But how could you have done that? You just told me that any knowledge about this book is either forgotten or erased once it returns to the Library. Why won't this book disappear, as well as our memories of it?"

"It would," Jon agreed. "If I'd copied it myself, either by transcribing it or by magical copying. But instead, I used a Wizard's Pantograph to copy each page into a blank book."

"A Wizard's Pantograph? I've never heard of such a thing."

"It's a very old technique for making copies by tracing the original text. The enchantment on Lupin's book _Obliviates_ every memory of his book or its contents from the mind of anyone who has read or heard about it – including any spoken, written or inscribed copies, because it can use the memories of the person to locate and erase each physical copy.

"But the Pantograph isn't a living mind. It just makes a copy of whatever text it's given, so no 'mind' looked at the text in Lupin's book. I had a fifth-year Muggle Studies student retrieve the accountancy book from the Library and change it to Lupin's book – then I was careful never to even _look_ at the book, keeping my eyes closed as I put it on the Pantograph for copying. It took several hours, but when it was done I had an exact replica of the book.

"After that it was simple – I've added some additional explanations of how we found the book, then used the Pantograph to make a mechanical copy of that page, which I added into the book. The next morning the page I'd written was blank, but the copy in the book was still there.

"I've made another copy of this book for you, Harry." Jon produced the copy from his book bag. "Even if you never use it to make another Marauder's Map, the spells and techniques Professor Lupin used to create it make fascinating reading."

Harry took the copy of the book, looking at it for some time. It was incredible that he remembered _none_ of this, but that Jon had managed to not only find the book again, but to copy it for their use.

"It's too bad you didn't go ahead and remake the Marauder's Map," he said plaintively.

"Well – I did, actually." Jon produced a gold ring set with four gemstones – a ruby, a sapphire, an emerald and a yellow diamond – the four gemstones of the four Houses of Hogwarts. "This is the Marauder's Map, remade." He held it out to Harry.

Harry took the ring, looking at it carefully. It was made of highly polished gold and of exquisite workmanship; the stones were perfectly set and balanced across the top of the ring. "How did you come by this ring?" Harry wanted to know.

"I went down to the kitchens several weeks ago," Jon replied, "just after the start of the term, and I asked your friend Dobby if he would help me locate a finely-made ring with all four House gemstones on it. He located a goblin willing to perform the work for me, and I got the ring from him a few weeks ago. I've been working on its enchantments since then. In fact, I just finished it last night, and added the details of how I did it to each of the books."

"I'm – I'm very impressed," Harry said, and in truth, he was nearly amazed. "But I don't understand – how can a _ring_ function as a _map_?"

"Go ahead and put it on," Jon prompted him. Harry did so, noting that the ring fitted perfectly on his finger. "You activate it the same way as the original Marauder's Map." Taking out his wand, Harry tapped the ring.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," he said, then flinched as rays of light shot from the gemstones and formed an image in the air in front of them in bold red letters:

_Messrs. Potter, Granger, Weasley and Crown  
_in conjunction with  
_Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs  
Purveyors of Aide to Magical Mischief-Makers  
_are proud to present  
**The Marauder's Map**

Harry had no more than read this than the letters faded, replaced by a translucent three-dimensional image of Hogwarts castle. Every window, tower and turret of the castle was visible.

"Wow," Harry said, impressed. When he tried to walk around it, however, the castle turned with him, preventing him from circling it.

"You don't need to move, the ring will do that for you," Jon said. "Rotate left one quarter," he said, and the castle promptly spun a quarter-turn. "The ring will respond to commands from the person wearing it, or from you or me," Jon said.

"What else can it do?" Harry asked, eager to see more.

"Ring, where am I?" Jon asked, and their viewpoint passed into the wall of Gryffindor Tower, moving through the walls until they came upon a view of the common room. There they saw two figures, standing in the same positions they occupied in the room, with the names "_Harry Potter_" and "_Jonathan Crown_" hovering above them.

"Excellent!" Harry said. "Can it find people other than students as well?"

"Yes, just like the original did," Jon nodded. "Where is Severus Snape," he said, and the image viewpoint sped through the school, flying through walls and corridors, until it reached Snape's private quarters located near his office. There, seated at a desk in what would be his bedroom, was a figure with the words "_Severus Snape_" floating above it.

"It can find anyone within the castle or grounds with a mind, including the house-elves, wizards in Animagus form, ghosts, even Peeves. I've noticed that the magic doesn't extend to things that might seem to be intelligent, but don't really have a mind of their own, like the Sorting Hat," Jon explained. "But I doubt if we need to worry about things like that."

"How far does it extend?" Harry asked while examining the gems and setting. It was really extraordinary workmanship, Harry thought; he couldn't imagine how much gold a goblin might charge to make something like this.

"It's roughly a circular region centered about the castle, including the grounds, the Quidditch pitch and the western edges of the Forbidden Forest and perhaps half of the lake on the south side."

"What happens if I ask it to show me someone who's not on the map?"

"Try it," suggested Jon. "Ask for Fred or George."

"Where is Fred Weasley?" Harry asked. The image didn't change, but Harry felt a buzzing sensation in his finger.

"It'll buzz like that if you ask it to do something it can't," Jon said. "I thought that was the safest thing for it to –"

"How much did this ring cost?" Harry asked suddenly.

"I thought it was impolite to ask how much a gift cost," Jon said with a smile.

"You're _giving_ this to me?" Harry exclaimed, more loudly than he meant to. He shot Jon a glance, then took out his wand, pointed it to the boys' dormitory staircase, said "_Muffliato_," and repeated it with the girls' staircase.

Turning back to Jon, Harry said slowly, "I don't think I can accept this. It's not that I'm not grateful that you remade the Map – and you obviously put a lot of thought into it – but I – I don't know…"

"I think I understand," Jon said seriously. "You're not used to the idea of getting nice gifts from people you don't know well."

Harry made a gesture that was somewhere between a shrug and a nod of concession.

"Well, I have to tell you," Jon said, pointing at the ring as Harry held it up for inspection. "I'm really proud of the effort I put into that ring. It would take an hour to show you everything it can do."

Harry suddenly remembered what Snape had said about the Map. "How does the Map plot Hogwarts, if the school is supposed to be Unplottable?"

"Funny you should ask that," Jon smiled. "Lupin used exactly the technique I used to copy his book – he made a tracing of Hogwarts."

Harry shook his head in confusion. "I don't understand."

"Wormtail," Jon said. "Being a rat Animagus, he could go places where the other Marauders couldn't, even in their own Animagus forms. Lupin put a spell on him to trace his motions onto a sheet of parchment, then had him follow the edges of each room, staircase, and corridor in the school. Adding spells to make the images on the map track the position of the doors, moving staircases, and so on, were easy enough."

Harrys jaw dropped. Such a simple solution! But he never would have thought of it, perhaps not even if he'd had Wormtail at his disposal to do the tracing.

"The only room that didn't make it onto the original Map, and the one room I couldn't find a way to include in the new one, was the Room of Requirement."

"Considering how variable the Room of Requirement can be," Harry mused. "It probably defies even tracing."

"It seems so," Jon agreed.

There was a period of silence, which Harry finally broke by saying, "I'm not sure if we can go to Diagon Alley any more."

"Why not?" Jon asked. "Not that I mind, one way or another. But I'm curious."

"Because of Snape," Harry said flatly.

"I still can't believe a Hogwarts teacher would put an Imperius Curse on a student," Jon said, shaking his head.

"Ron must be resisting it somehow," Harry said, "Otherwise he might have told Snape…" Harry trailed off, realizing he'd said too much.

"Told him what?"

"Nevermind," Harry said dismissively. "Besides, we'd still have to get from Hogwarts to your car, wherever it is, then to Diagon Alley, and then back again afterwards. The Ministry may have Aurors in Hogsmeade again – we'd be running a risk trying to get to it there."

"Who said my car was in Hogsmeade?" Jon asked with a grin.

"Where else could it be?" Harry wanted to know.

In answer Jon gestured around him, meaning Hogwarts castle itself.

"Your car is in the _school_?" Harry said, stunned. "_Where_?"

But Jon held up a cautionary finger. "I'd show you now if we had the time, Harry, but we probably should call it a night. We have almost four weeks before the next Round, so I have plenty of time to give you a tour of my new facilities before then."

Harry nodded reluctantly. He was no longer sleepy at all, but it was well past midnight now, almost one a.m. in fact, and they would have to be up in seven hours or so to have breakfast and go to their first class, Charms. "Thanks for the ring," he said, with a genuine smile. "I really am happy to have the Map back – and I'm really impressed you were able to do it. Especially like this."

"I am too," Jon replied with a chuckle. He turned serious. "We will find a use for it when we're ready to go to the Tournament, you'll see. Alright, let's call it a night." He picked up his book bag, then he and Harry walked up the stairs toward their dormitories; Jon stopped off at the fifth one while Harry continued up to his own, trying to figure out what the faint whooshing sound he kept hearing was.


	28. The Forest and the Trees

Chapter 28

**THE FOREST AND THE TREES**

"Harry, why did you cast _Muffliato_ on the girls' staircase last night?" Hermione asked him quietly as he and Ron sat down for breakfast the next morning. "Were you and Ron talking down in the common room?"

"Er –" It hit Harry what the whooshing sound he'd heard last night as he and Jon walked up the boys' staircase was: the effects of that spell. "Why d'you think it was me that cast it?" he finished lamely.

Hermione gave him a quizzical look. "Well, you _are_ one of the only students in the school that even knows that spell, Harry. And I _won't_ cast it, as you well know. Therefore, it's either you or Ron, and Ron and I were studying together in the common room until 11:30 last night," she finished matter-of-factly.

"I didn't do it," Ron said through a mouthful of eggs, looking both Harry and Hermione. "Did you, Harry?"

"Er –" Harry shrugged. "Well, I – I apologized to Jon last night. I asked him to meet me down here after midnight. I didn't want anyone else to hear me apologizing to him, I just felt stupid."

"Hey, what's that?" Ron asked, pointing to the ring on Harry's finger.

"Oh, yeah!" In a low voice Harry told them about the ring Jon had given him as a replacement for the Marauder's Map.

"Whoa," Ron said, in awe.

"How could Jon have remade the Marauder's Map as a _ring_?" Hermione asked, astonished.

"Oh, that's right," Harry said, realizing that he could now remember Lupin's book since the incantation controlling the memory of it was now broken. "You've forgotten about Professor Lupin's Marauder's Map book by now."

"His _what_?" Ron and Hermione said together.

By the end of breakfast, Harry had managed to explain the details behind Lupin's book as well as promising them a demonstration of the new Map. They hastened off to begin classes for the day.

February rolled in the same way January had rolled out – cold and blustery, very unwelcome weather indeed for Quidditch. Fortunately, the first game of the term would not take place until the third Saturday of March, between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, and the weather was expected to improve substantially by then.

For now, however, there was still the need for practice, and Harry had scheduled one for that afternoon, right after the last period ended. The match would be five months from the previous one they'd played in late October, and Harry expected his team would be rusty from lack of playing.

To his surprise, however, the practice went smoothly, with Ginny, Demelza and Natalie bringing the Quaffle down the pitch in good form and passing well; Jimmy and Ritchie, his Beaters, were showing good coverage for their team, and Ron, as Keeper, was making saves more often than not, even from Ginny.

Watching Ron play, Harry realized he was having one of his best days ever: poised, enthusiastic and confident, he was at the top of his game. Afterwards, in the changing room, he laughed and joked even with Jimmy and Ritchie, neither of whom he normally talked with much. If he could get Ron and Hermione alone, Harry thought, he could let them know what he'd found out about Snape. They would both likely be shocked, especially Hermione, but if Harry could prepare Ron properly, he might be able to resist Snape's Imperius Curse.

After changing back into their school robes, Harry and Ron met Hermione at the entrance to the changing room and they started back toward the castle.

"You were flying really well today, Ron," Hermione said brightly as Ron grinned at her.

"Thanks! I was, wasn't I?" Ron held up his broom, one of the Crown Jewels. "With this broom, and the saves I was making today, I felt like I swallowed a bottle of Felix Felicis! I felt like I could do anything!"

"Luna told Ginny this morning at breakfast she felt like that too," Hermione said, beaming. "Neville asked her to go to Madam Puddifoot's this Valentine's Day."

"Really?" Ron said, giving her a sly smile. "You know, that's a good idea."

"What do you mean?" Hermione said, wide-eyed with an innocence Harry had a gut feeling was feigned.

Ron stopped, and Hermione and Harry both came to a halt with him. "Hermione," he said, taking her hand. "Would you go with me to Madam Puddifoot's on Valentine's Day?"

"Oh, Ron!" Hermione embraced Ron tightly, and he hugged her back with his free arm. "Of _course_ I'd love to go!" She put her arm in his and they started walking again toward the school, with Harry trailing behind. "Thank Merlin you asked me before this weekend – now I'll have a chance to find a new dress. And we'll find you something to wear as well."

"What's wrong with what I've got right now?" Ron asked, confused.

"For our first – I mean, for tea at Madam Puddifoot's?" Hermione said incredulously. "Ron, _please_!"

"Alright, no problem," Ron said, managing to sound both airy and annoyed at the same time. "I'll just have Mum go out in the garden and pick some gold off the Galleon tree –"

"We'll manage, Ron," Hermione said firmly. She squeezed his arm happily. "I'm so glad you asked me!" Walking into the school, they headed for the Great Hall, where dinner had begun.

"Ron, Hermione," Harry, having fallen behind, was muttering to himself. "I hate to spoil this happy moment, but Snape's put an Imperius Curse on Ron several months ago and he's been telling him all our secrets. Yeah, that's going to sound great right now."

In fact, as Harry shortly found out, Valentine's Day this year was turning into a very big event for Hogwarts. With Voldemort's disappearance before the school year began, there had been a lot of coupling, decoupling and re-coupling amongst the students, who now felt free to pursue such interests.

Lavender Brown produced a flyer from Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop, which had enjoyed a long-standing tradition of being _the_ place to be on Valentine's Day. Harry, in his first and to-date only visit to the establishment, had found it too cramped, too steamy and too frilly. Of course, nearly every girl in Hogwarts wanted to go there on February fourteenth.

And Madame Puddifoot, cagey old witch and businesswoman that she was, had worked out a system that would allow just that. Valentine's Day would also be a Hogsmeade day at Hogwarts; all students third-year and above with signed permission slips from their parents or guardians would be allowed to go to the small Wizarding village that day.

Madam Puddifoot had even arranged specific times for each year. Third-years would be allowed in the shop between noon and 1 p.m.; fourth-years from 1 p.m. until 2 p.m., and so on up to the seventh-years, who were given the coveted 4 p.m. time, the traditional time for tea in Britain.

Soon the only topics one heard about in the corridors, the Great Hall and the common rooms was who was going with whom to the Tea Room, and how hard the N.E.W.T. (or O.W.L.) studies were going. It seemed as if schoolwork might grind to a halt until after the second Saturday of February.

The teachers, recognizing (and, in most cases, tolerating) this, responded in their own ways. Professor Sprout cut back on her reading and homework assignments and concentrated on her always-lively practicals. Tonks did likewise, with simple exercises that left her free to roam among the students questioning the girls on who they were going with and what they were wearing. Even Flitwick began assigning only in-class reading and relatively minor N.E.W.T. practicals for them.

Snape's response, however, was typical of his lack of regard for his students, Harry thought: he began assigning longer reading assignments and more homework. In addition, when students began to complain, he began deducting points, especially from Gryffindor, for "insolence," culminating in assigning detention to Dean Thomas for protesting this. Heaping insult upon injury, he added to Dean, "As I have a prior commitment this weekend, Thomas, the detention will be the following Saturday at 5 p.m."

"But that's _Valentine's Day_!" Dean said, outraged. "I have a date at four that afternoon!"

"Then I fail to understand your disappointment," Snape said coldly. "After all, you will have an hour to complete your date and appear at my office, promptly, at 5 p.m."

Dean lapsed into an angry silence and Snape's lip curled in silent victory. "Turn to Chapter 34, and we'll begin by discussing area protection spells."

A few days before Valentine's Day, Fred and George wrote to Ron that owl order service for love potions had surged during the week, and that they were working long hours to fill them. Normally, as a prefect, this would have outraged Hermione, who considered love potions both foolish and dangerous. This year, however, she merely shrugged when Ron read her his letter from his twin brothers, saying, "Well, it will all blow over by Monday."

When the day finally arrived, the entire school was in a state of high anticipation. In contrast, Filch shuffled about the entrance hall, in high dudgeon, hurling threats at anyone who put a toe out of line.

Harry and Ron came down that morning for a leisurely breakfast, though Ron's stomach was much more fluttery than normal; he was quite nervous about the trip to Madame Puddifoot's that afternoon.

"I mean, it's not like we've never sat around and drank tea together before," Ron was saying to Harry as they both filled their plates. "She's just so – so – I dunno, so … _excited_ about it, this time," he finished, looking at Harry almost helplessly. "I think if I backed out now she'd curse me. I mean, really _curse_ me!"

"I know what you mean," Harry agreed. "Hello, Jon."

Jon nodded at Harry and Ron as he sat down and started getting breakfast. "Are you taking anyone to Madame Puddifoot's this afternoon?" Ron asked him.

"Deirdre wants to go," Jon said unenthusiastically as he started in on his eggs. "She's been hearing so much about the place from the other girls she wants to see what all the excitement's about."

"Isn't she excited about going there to be with you?" Ron asked.

"Oh, I expect so," Jon said, shrugging. "But I don't think she's going to enjoy it. It's just not her style."

Ron turned to Harry. "You're taking Ginny, aren't you?"

"No," Harry said.

"_What_?" Ron looked astounded. "You're joking!"

"She and I never talked about it," Harry said, keeping his eyes on his plate. The truth was, he'd been avoiding her for the last week or so for that very reason. All of the talk of the past week about who was going or wasn't going with whom had served to underscore to Harry what he should be concentrating on – instead of having tea at Madame Puddifoot's, he should be concentrating on finding Voldemort's Horcruxes.

"Maybe she hoped you'd ask her even if you hadn't talked about it," Jon said quietly. Harry didn't respond.

"Good morning, everyone," Hermione said brightly as she walked up to the Gryffindor table, positively glowing with excitement and anticipation, and slid in next to Ron, whom she hugged for several moments in pure joy. Ron put an arm around her awkwardly. "Ready for the big day?" she asked Ron in a low tone only Harry, sitting right next to him, heard.

Ron nodded mutely.

"Are you going with someone today, Jon?" Hermione asked him conversationally as she buttered a piece of toast.

"Yes," Jon nodded. "Deirdre."

"Oh." Hermione smiled as if she'd expected that response all along. "Is she excited about going?"

"Yes," Jon said, his tone flat.

"You don't sound too excited about it," Hermione commented, cutting her toast in half and taking a bite out of one of the pieces. "Aren't you excited about going, too?" Harry wondered if she was fishing for gossip material.

"I'm sure we'll have a good time," Jon said, not taking the bait. "She's been looking forward to it since I asked her to go."

Harry tried to sink down into his seat, out of sight. It didn't work.

"Harry," Hermione said, leaning forward to look at him around Ron. "You asked Ginny to go, didn't you?"

"Um, no," Harry said, knowing in a flash of intuition that she'd already asked Ginny the same thing.

"_Oh_!" Hermione said, not sounding very surprised. "Why not? I'm sure she'd love to go."

Harry felt a flush of anger. Hermione knew very well the reasons why he didn't want to appear romantically involved with Ginny. "Just leave it, Hermione," he said in a cold tone.

Hermione, appearing stung by the rebuff, lapsed into an affronted silence. No one else spoke for some time; excited conversations about Hogsmeade and Madame Puddifoot's continued around them. Harry pushed his eggs around on his plate for several minutes, then pushed his plate away, no longer hungry.

Abruptly the food vanished from the tables, signaling the end of breakfast. Hermione stood stiffly, not looking in Harry's direction. "Ron, let's get going."

Ron looked at her quickly. "What, already? It's only 9 a.m.!"

"I'll want to do some shopping first," Hermione said curtly. "And we can have lunch at Three Broomsticks. That is, if you can manage to order without getting tongue-tied around Madam Rosemerta. Bye, Jon," she said, looking across the table at him. "I hope you and Deirdre have a nice time today." She didn't look at or acknowledge Harry at all.

"Bye," Jon said, watching her walk away. Ron lingered for a moment; catching Harry's eye, he shrugged helplessly then followed Hermione into the entrance hall. Other students were following suit; soon the Great Hall was nearly empty. Even most of the teachers were gone from the High Table; only Tonks and McGonagall were still there; they were huddled close together, as if talking about something private.

"What's the matter, Potter? Your girlfriend dump you?" The one person Harry had hoped not to see today, Draco Malfoy, had come up between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables and was standing ten feet away, flanked, as always, by Crabbe and Goyle. "I can see why, with you hanging out with losers like Clown here. Get it? Crown, clown." Crabbe and Goyle both sniggered sycophantically.

"Very original, Malfoy," Jon said sarcastically. "Nobody's ever thought of _that_ insult before." Harry snorted and Malfoy's smile vanished.

"Don't get cheeky, Crown. I'm Head Boy, remember – I'll have to take points off of Gryffindor for rudeness."

"Try it," Jon said, pointing a finger at him.

Malfoy snorted and started to speak, "Gluuck –" His eyes went wide and he looked wildly at Crabbe and Goyle. "Nnng! Uggl!" he said, hands to his throat. Crabbe and Goyle, both looking panicked, were saying "What? What?" as Malfoy tried to speak.

"You'd better take him to Madam Pomfrey, boys," Jon said to Crabbe and Goyle. "He appears to have lost his voice."

Malfoy's hand went into his robe for his wand, but Jon put a hand up and said, "McGonagall's looking this way." Malfoy froze and his eyes darted to the High Table. It was true; McGonagall and Tonks were both staring with interest at them.

Malfoy relaxed, letting go of his wand. "Gnull gnay arrgh glis, Glwn," he said (or rather, tried to say), then turned and walked away, Crabbe and Goyle following quickly in his wake, not even bothering to crack their knuckles or chuckle trollishly before leaving. Harry glanced surreptitiously toward McGonagall; she watched Malfoy and his cronies leave the Great Hall, then with a final stern glance in Harry's direction turned back to her conversation with Tonks.

"What did he say?" Harry asked, looking at Jon after they'd left.

"He said I'd pay for that," Jon said, chuckling himself. "At least, that's as close as I could make out."

"Aren't you going to go with them?" Harry wanted to know, indicating the throngs of students now mobbing the entrance hall waiting for the teachers who were going to take them to Hogsmeade.

"Deirdre's got other things to do today," Jon said. "She doesn't want to leave until after three or so. And I feel lazy today; I'm just going to hang out until then. Are you anxious to get rid of me or something?"

"No," Harry said. "Actually, I want to ask you something."

"Shoot."

"Do you have a crush on Hermione?"

Jon sat back and regarded Harry with mild surprise. "Didn't we settle this question a couple of months ago?"

"I know what she said," Harry replied. "But I want to know how _you_ feel about it."

"Tell me something first, Harry: what do _you_ think about it?" Jon asked.

Harry was silent for several moments, thinking how to say it. Finally, "Yeah, I think you do. You probably don't want to say because Ron and Hermione are still a couple. But I think you would go with her if you could."

Jon sighed, staring down at the table in front of him for a long time before he replied. Finally, he looked up at Harry. "You're wrong, Harry," he said quietly. "I will tell you, truthfully, that I do like Hermione, a lot. But I knew, the first time I saw her and Ron, they belonged together. I don't want to screw that up.

"But at the same time," he continued, "I'm not going to stay away from her because she's 'taken,' or some other nonsense like that. She can talk to whomever she wants to, do you agree?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "Alright, I see your point, I guess."

"So, what are you going to do about Ginny?" Jon asked after several moments of silence.

"No idea," Harry said, feeling completely lost.

"What about finding her and asking if she'd like to go to Madame Puddifoot's?" Jon suggested, plaintively.

Harry sighed. "I should have asked her days ago, if I was going to," he said, still not knowing what to do. "She probably won't want to go with me anyway, now, or she's going with someone else."

"Probably not," Jon said with a shrug, but there was an ironic smile on his face.

"Right," Harry said. He stood up. "Look, maybe I'll see you later."

"Okay," Jon said, and Harry walked out of the Great Hall, past the crowds of third- and fourth-years still waiting to go to Hogsmeade, and up the marble staircase. He wandered aimless around the castle for some time, trying to decide whether to ask Ginny or not. One thing, he knew, was certain: he'd never know whether she'd go or not if he didn't ask her.

He'd decided what to do; the only left now was to find Ginny and talk to her. That would be the simplest part of it. Finding a deserted stretch of corridor, Harry took out his wand and tapped the Marauder's Ring saying, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." An image of the castle appeared, and Harry asked, "Where am I?" The viewpoint sped inward until the corridor he was in came into view and he could see the figure representing him, labeled "Harry Potter." "Where is Ginny Weasley?" Harry said, and the viewpoint slid forward and downward, passing through walls and floors until it arrived the courtyard, where Harry could see the lone figure labeled "Ginevra Weasley." "Mischief managed," he said, tapping the ring and dashing along corridors and down flights of staircases until he ran down the marble staircase into the now mostly-empty entrance hall and along the corridor leading north until it came to a corner and a doorway leading to the courtyard.

Ginny was sitting on a bench in front of a compost-filled flower bed, seemingly lost in thought. She didn't react immediately when Harry sat down beside her. Harry stared at her profile, thinking how beautiful she looked and how stupid he felt, not wanting to be with her. But he _did_ want to be with her, he argued with himself; it was Voldemort he didn't want involved in this – Voldemort and his Death Eaters, who would surely try to kill her to get at him. It was just really, really hard to remember that at times like this.

"Ginny," Harry said finally. "I'm sorry."

Ginny turned to look at him, and he saw a tear running down her cheek. "What's wrong?" Harry asked anxiously.

"Nothing," she said, sniffing and wiping the tear away. "I'm just glad to see you."

"I'm glad to see you too," he said, smiling as well. "I'm just – well, I'm just –"

"Stupid?" she finished, looking at him with raised eyebrows.

Harry laughed. "Maybe," he said, and he leaned forward and kissed her.

After several seconds she put her arms around him, and in what seemed like a day or so later he leaned back and looked at her.

"Do you forgive me?" he asked.

"I'll think about it," she said slowly, then added, "after a few more kisses."

They kissed for several more minutes, and held each other in a long embrace. But when Ginny finally pulled away from him, she had a disapproving look on her face.

"Wasn't there something you came here to ask me?" she said with a forced severity.

"Well, yeah," Harry said, looking as if the question were obvious.

"I can't answer it if you don't ask me, Harry," she said, seriously.

"That's true," Harry agreed. "Ginny, would you like to go to Madame Puddifoot's with me this afternoon?"

"I would," she said, then laughed and hugged him fiercely. "See, that didn't hurt much, did it?"

"Not much," Harry said, rubbing his ribs where she'd squeezed them.

"Good, because you're not going to the infirmary even if I cracked some of them," she said, laughing. "In fact, we're going even if Snape shows up in the next ten seconds and gives us detention all afternoon!"

That jarred a memory in Harry. "Oh, I've been meaning to tell you something about Ron," he said, and quickly filled her in on what he'd witnessed from under his Invisibility Cloak between Ron and Snape in the corridor of Barnabas the Barmy, almost two weeks before. Ginny was horrified.

"Have you checked to see if he was actually cursed?" she asked, her eyes blazing with hatred toward Snape.

"Haven't had a chance," Harry shook his head. "He and Hermione have been together almost constantly since I found out; I've been trying to tell her so she can help me figure out what to do. Snape's been trying to get me in enough trouble so McGonagall will have to kick me out – I think that's partly what the Ministry raids were about, but they couldn't prove anything without finding Jon's Corvette."

"So where did it go, by the way?" Ginny wanted to know. "I snuck out to the Whomping Willow a week or so ago, but Filch covered up the knot that freezes it so it can't be approached anymore."

"He moved it, he told me so when we talked a few nights after I talked with Lupin and –"

"When did you talk to Lupin?" Ginny exclaimed. "Was he here?"

"No, I used McGonagall's fireplace. She let me. It was the same day I got in the fight with Malfoy in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom."

"Ooooh, I heard about that," she said breathlessly. "Myrtle was telling some Ravenclaw girls about it, and they've been telling everyone else. You know," she said with a smirk, "I think Myrtle sort of fancies you, Harry."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I've gotten that impression as well," he said, shuddering slightly. "But I don't think it'd work out, seeing as how she's been _dead_ for fifty years now."

"The point is," Ginny said, getting back on track. "We've got to do something about Ron being cursed. I can tell Hermione about it the next time we're alone."

"Good," Harry said. "And I'll figure out how to check Ron for the Imperius Curse."

Ginny suddenly jumped up. "Oh my God," she exclaimed. "I've got to go get ready! Come on!" Grabbing Harry's hand, she raced back into the school and they ran pell-mell up staircases and along corridors until they reached the Gryffindor common room.

"You get ready too!" She said excitedly, letting him go and starting up the girls' staircase. "I'll be ready in an hour – well, make it ninety minutes – then we can go to Hogsmeade's until it's time for your turn at Madame Puddifoot's!"

Two hours later, Harry was sitting in front of the common room fireplace, watching the flames crackling in the hearth and idly turning the Marauder's Ring on his finger when Ginny appeared again.

They made their way down to the entrance hall where a sour-looking Filch gestured Harry toward the signout book. "Don't forget, children – curfew is at 6 p.m.," Filch told them nastily, passing a Dark magic detector around both of them, sniffing with disappointment when nothing turned up. "Have a good time," he wheezed sarcastically, jerking a thumb at the door.

"He's getting to be a right foul git," Ginny said disgustedly as walked toward the school gates.

"At least he can't do anything to us once we're beyond these gates," Harry said. They passed through the main gate, between the pillars upon which stood the pair of winged boars which were Hogwarts namesake, and up the road leading to Hogsmeade.

The normally quiet Wizarding town was full nearly to bursting with students: couples strolling arm-in-arm, either waiting their turn at Madame Puddifoot's or returning from there; local townsfolk, who were tolerating the intrusion with quiet amusement or studied indifference; and the occasional Hogwarts teacher, probably acting as unofficial chaperones in case any quarrels broke out.

Harry also noticed a few people he didn't recognize from the local population walking about the town. Possibly, they were travelers just "passing through," but he felt a sense of "eyes upon him" from time to time that could not be mere coincidence – especially when it seemed to occur around the time he noticed an unfamiliar face.

Harry began to "check out" these unfamiliar folks in a casual way: as he and Ginny made their way slowly through Hogsmeade, window-shopping or when they stopped at Three Broomsticks for a couple of butterbeers, he would casually glance toward them, then away for a few seconds. When he turned back again, invariable the person had disappeared.

Ginny had begun to notice it as well. At one point when she drew near to point out a particularly frilly dress in the window of Gladrags, she whispered, "Harry, I think there's some witch following us around."

"Yeah, I saw her too," Harry agreed. "She's probably gone by now, though."

Ginny glanced behind them cautiously, frowning. "You're right – she's gone. How'd you know?"

"She was the fourth person I've seen so far watching us," Harry said matter-of-factly. The first was a witch, then two different wizards, and that one we just saw."

"Why d'you reckon they're watching us?" Ginny said, sounding a bit nervous.

"Probably to see who we talk to, where we go, what we do," Harry guessed. "I was wondering whether I was seeing things or not, but if you're seeing them too, I think we can consider it real."

They came to the side street where Madame Puddifoot's was located, a few doors from the intersection. "Oh my gawd," Ginny drawled.

A first glance it seemed as if every student from third to seventh year was standing outside Madame Puddifoot's. A queue of laughing, chattering couples stretched from the doorway up the street. There were also several small crowds of students standing along and in the street, talking excitedly about their experiences in the Tea Room. Standing in front of the stores across the street were several shop owners who were looking upon the scene with evident displeasure. Beside him, looking at this throng, Ginny uttered a soft but sizzling curse.

Harry looked at her in mild surprise. "Sorry," she said, more quietly. "I just didn't expect a crowd like this."

"I didn't either," Harry said. "I don't think I've ever seen a crowd this big in Hogsmeade before."

"We better get in line," Ginny said ruefully. "I see almost everyone else we know in seventh year there already – we're probably the last ones here."

It wasn't long before four p.m., Harry saw, checking his watch. There were only two or three sixth-year couples at the front of the queue now, and as they walked by several couples walked out of the shop and joined the milling crowd in the street. The last few sixth-years stepped inside.

A few of the seventh-year couples from Gryffindor waved at them as they walked by: Neville and Luna were right at the front, followed by (Harry blinked in surprise) Dean Thomas and Romilda Vane. Blaise Zabini was there with a girl Harry didn't recognize; Harry and he avoided looking at each other; Gryffindors and Slytherins loathed each other on principle. They also saw Michael Corner, Ginny's old boyfriend of a few years ago, with Orla Quirke; and Terry Boot and Lisa Turpin, the Hufflepuff prefects, were there as well. Justin Fitch-Fletchley, who was standing with Laura Madley, nodded at them as they walked by. Near the end of the queue were Ron and Hermione, and Ron waved at them to cut in front of them, prompting some outraged looks from the couples behind them. "We'll go to the back," Harry said, shaking his head at the invitation. "See you inside."

They arrived at the end, behind a pair of Hufflepuffs Harry didn't know very well. Ginny nodded to them. "Hi Wayne, Eleanor," she said, smiling.

"Hi, Ginny," they both responded, smiling as well. "Hello, Harry," Wayne said.

"This is Wayne Hopkins," Ginny said to Harry, introducing them. "And Eleanor Branstone." Harry shook both their hands.

"Been having a good year, Harry?" Wayne asked conversationally.

"I've had better," Harry said mildly. "How about you?"

"Can't complain. I'm looking forward to getting N.E.W.T.s over with and getting out into the real world."

"Wayne's going to work for the Ministry," Eleanor said proudly, squeezing his arm and beaming at him. "He thinks they'll put him in Department of Magical Trading Standards, cataloging carnivorous plants in Europe and Asia Minor."

"Sounds exciting," Harry said with a small smile.

"I should hope so!" Wayne said enthusiastically. "I can hardly wait to get started!"

"He's so adventurous!" Eleanor gushed, putting an arm around him affectionately.

"Well, hope you two have a great time," Wayne said, and he and Eleanor turned back around.

Harry and Ginny glanced at each other and smiled, each knowing what the other was thinking: _If only our lives were that uncomplicated_.

There was a commotion up at the front of the queue and several people stepped out to see what was going on. Harry strained to see but there were too many people. "I'll go up!" Ginny said, and took off toward the front of the queue.

"Wait –" Harry made a grab for her but she was already out of reach. He ran after her, having a bad feeling about what they were going to find.

"Ginny –!" Ron said as she ran past him and Hermione.

"Harry, what's going –" Hermione said as he ran past them, hot on Ginny's heels.

"Come on!" Harry said loudly, waving for them to follow. It couldn't hurt to have a couple of prefects on his side.

A few seconds later Ginny and Harry had arrived at the doorway of Madame Puddifoot's Tea Shop to find Neville Longbottom and Draco Malfoy standing almost nose-to-nose, with Luna and Pansy Parkinson each standing behind their respective dates. Draco was between Neville and the door of the tea shop; evidently he and Pansy had tried to cut into the queue.

Draco, seeing the four of them run up, put his hand in his pocket but didn't otherwise move. "Called up the reserves, eh, Longbottom?" he sneered, jerking his head toward them. "What'd you do, call them on your little magic coin?"

"Nobody called us," Hermione said angrily. "But it's a good thing we're here."

"Yeah," Ron added hotly. "No cuts, Malfoy!"

"Head Boy's prerogative," Malfoy said with a smirk, turning back the lapel of his robe to show his badge.

"We're not in school!" Hermione said, outraged. "You can't bully people with that badge here!"

"You don't think so?" Malfoy laughed, and Pansy giggled.

"You're pretty naïve, Granger, to think that," Pansy said derisively. "All the rest of us have. Right, Lisa?" she called out. Lisa shook her head no, but Terry Boot looked away.

At that moment Madam Puddifoot opened the door. "All right, m'dears, it's four p.m. – time for the seventh years – oh, dear…" she trailed off, seeing the confrontation going on outside her shop. "What – what's going on here?" she demanded, albeit a bit tremulously, looking back and forth between Neville, Draco, and Ron and Hermione.

Harry had the impression that other eyes were on them as well. He didn't want any of the Aurors he'd spotted earlier to break this up – they'd undoubtedly send everyone back to Hogwarts, and Harry didn't want the seventh-years' (and his as well!) Valentine's Day ruined. He began to step forward.

But Neville had put up his hands. "It's okay," he said calmly. "If the Head Boy wants to be the first one into Madame Puddifoot's shop for Valentine's Day, I suppose he should have it. After all," he added pointedly, "it's probably his most important contribution to the school this year."

Several students nearby laughed, as did many of the students watching the altercation nearby from the street.

Malfoy reddened. "Never mind," he said nastily. "You can have this stupid old shop. Pansy and I'll go to Three Broomsticks – I reckon Madam Rosemerta will give us a private room for our own little Valentine's Day celebration."

"That's unlikely," Harry said loudly. "Unless you put another Imperius Curse on her, like you did last year." There were several gasps and a few students pulled back, wondering what Malfoy would do after such an accusation.

Malfoy's teeth gritted, and Harry saw his hand clench inside his robe. But Malfoy didn't pull his wand – he just grabbed Pansy with his free hand and said, "Come on – let's go."

"But Draco!" Pansy shrilled as he led her away toward High Street. "I wanted to go _there_! Draco!" Her voice finally faded as she and Malfoy reached High Street and disappeared, accompanied by applause as the rest of the queue celebrated their departure.

Harry and the others started to return to the end of the queue but the other students gratefully insisted they get into line behind Neville and Luna. Within a few minutes Madam Puddifoot had ushered them into her elaborately-frilled and bowed shop and they were each seated at one of the many small, intimate tables. Ron and Hermione were seated next to Harry and Ginny, while Neville and Luna were given a spot a few tables further away.

"I'm so glad you were able to settle that unpleasant confrontation quickly," Madam Puddifoot chattered as a small towel, floating in the air, wiped off their tabletops. She bustled back and forth between them and the counter. "It would be a shame to ruin everyone's Valentine's Day." The students at the other tables, still mostly sixth-years, were staring at them in frank curiosity, as most of them had heard Neville and Malfoy's shouting a few minutes before. Harry did his best to ignore them, concentrating instead on Ginny, who was now smiling at him in a way that reminded him, unsettlingly, of Luna, who he noted was looking around the shop in fascination while Neville frowned over the rather small menu.

There were two younger girls moving among the tables, taking orders and serving, probably to lighten Madam Puddifoot's workload. Harry and Ginny's waitress, a thin, fresh-faced girl with straight brown hair, took their order. They both ordered coffee and window cakes. At the next table, Ron and Hermione's waitress, a cheerful girl with short blonde hair, took their order as well. Both girls disappeared behind the counter where Madam Puddifoot was preparing settings for other customers.

Hermione sighed contentedly, looking around the store. "This place is just so … so … "

"Frilly?" Ron suggested.

"Gaudy?" Ginny grinned.

_Tasteless_, Harry added to himself. It wasn't his idea of a good time, but he'd come to understand that one did have to enjoy oneself every single moment when you were with someone you cared about.

The wait for their meals seemed interminable. Several more tables were emptied and filled with incoming seventh-years. Hermione and Ginny were pointing out, and sometimes giggling over, some of the frillier decorations, along with the occasional floating cherubs that flung confetti on them every so often.

The waitresses finally brought them their coffee and snacks. Ron had ordered a smoked salmon sandwich, which he attacked while Harry and Ginny tried their window cakes and Hermione sipped at her coffee.

Some of the other seventh-years, he noted, were here only for the ambiance, such as it was, or perhaps to make a public display of affection. Wayne and Eleanor, the Hufflepuffs they were behind in line earlier, had been seated and were nearly wrapped around each other, they were sitting so close. They were ardently snogging each other, to the amusement of the other customers; a few, however, were taking their passion as a cue to begin their own. It was not long before several couples were likewise engaged, to Harry's mild embarrassment. He even saw, glancing Neville's way, that he and Luna were leaning across their own table, kissing.

"Getting any ideas, Harry?" Ginny said wickedly as she watched him looking around the room.

"Oh, don't say that," Ron, looking fairly uncomfortable himself, snapped at her.

"Ron, don't worry about it," Hermione said, putting her hand on his. "We're here to have a nice afternoon, not to worry about who's snogging whom."

Ron looked vaguely unhappy, but – "Alright," he said, forestalling the remark Ginny, her eyes flashing at him, was about to make.

The door opened and Jon and Deirdre walked in. Madam Puddifoot bowed them into the tearoom, seating them fairly close to Harry and Ginny. Deirdre was trying to look everywhere at once, her eyes scanning the room and its contents most carefully, included the students and their various snogging or eating activities. Jon put a hand up in silent greeting at Harry, and Harry nodded in return. The blonde girl came over to take their order.

Ginny, her attention refocused on Harry, slid her hand out toward Harry, who took it in his. "I am very happy we could be together today, Harry," she said softly. "It's good to spend time, however little it is sometimes, with you."

"I'm glad we came here too," Harry smiled, for a moment letting go of the concerns he'd wrapped himself up in over the last eight months. "It would be nice if all I wanted was a job cataloging plants, wouldn't it?"

Ginny giggled. "I doubt if that would suit you," she said with amusement. "Even if they were carnivorous."

Ron and Hermione, meanwhile, had been whispering to themselves. "Ron!" she suddenly said loudly, standing up. "For the last time, I'm not interested!" She turned and, dodging between the narrow tables, bolted into the ladies room.

Zabini, who'd been holding his date's coat for her, snorted. "What'd you ask her to do, Romeo?" he asked loudly. Several students chuckled at his insinuation.

"Shut up, Zabini," Ron said warningly.

"Whatever it was," Zabini's date said, simpering, "it probably scared her – I don't think Granger has even snogged anyone, much less –"

"Leave it, Daphne," Ginny cut her off. "Or have you told Blaise that you're saving yourself for your wedding night?"

Daphne glared coldly at Ginny. "As opposed to _you_, Weasley?" she replied nastily.

"What?!" Ron exclaimed, incensed, but Ginny's retort rode over him.

"I suppose you know all about those rumors, Daphne – you started most of them."

Daphne scowled but said nothing more as Zabini, now frowning, finished helping her with her coat and they departed.

Ginny turned back to Harry, looking rueful. "Sorry," she said quietly. "Daphne Greengrass can be quite a cow sometimes." She looked back toward the ladies room, then at Ron, a mixed look of concern for her and annoyance with Ron on her face.

"I think I should go see if Hermione's all right," she said, looking apologetically at Harry. "Do you mind?"

Harry shook his head. "It's fine, go," he said. Ginny got up, throwing a single steely-eyed glance at Ron, and went into the bathroom as well.

As soon as she was gone Ron covered his face with his hands, leaning on the table. "What did you say to her now?" Harry asked, trying to get Ron talking, to say anything.

"I don't want to talk about it," Ron said, his voice muffled under his hands. However, he spread his fingers slightly and looked between them; everyone at the tables nearest to him was staring at him.

"Whyn't you all go back to snogging each other already?" Ron said irritably. "Show's over here, move along." The people watching him slowly turned back to each and resumed their conversations, though Harry got the impression Ron and Hermione were now the focus of most of them.

"I'm glad we came here today," Harry heard Deirdre say to Jon. "I've never seen so much emotional interaction before."

"Probably more than either of us expected," Jon replied, his voice so low Harry could barely made it out.

"Oh," Deirdre said suddenly, looking toward the window. "What time is it, by the way?"

Jon looked at his watch. "It's 4:35 p.m. Why?"

Deirdre stood. "I need to go outside for a while…"

"Okay…" Jon said slowly, standing as well.

"No," Deirdre said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I need to go by myself."

"But –"

"I'll be alright," she said. "Just stay here with your friends. I'll be back in a bit." She walked out the door and turned toward the end of the street. Jon watched her leave but didn't follow her. Finally he sat down again.

Harry, Ron and Jon looked at each other. "Not exactly how I expected to spend Valentine's Day," Jon said wryly.

"Why didn't you go after her?" Harry wanted to know. "Don't you wonder what she's up to?"

"Not really," Jon said, and Harry shook his head in confusion. It used to be that he couldn't fathom how girls thought. Now it looked like he'd have to add Americans to the list of people he couldn't figure out.

"Whatever she's doing, Harry," Jon said seriously, "it's not something we need be concerned about. She would have told me if that were so."

"How do you know you can trust her?" Harry asked, equally serious.

"Didn't Professor McGonagall vouch for her?"

"Well, yeah , but –" Harry stopped short. "Wait a minute. How did you know that? McGonagall told me that, but I haven't mentioned it to you yet."

"But Deirdre mentioned it to me a long time ago."

Harry fell silent. Ron leaned forward over the table, putting his face in his hands once again. After a few minutes the other couples began to pay for their food and leave, perhaps sensing that the show was over. Before long only Harry, Ron and Jon were left in the tea room, with Madam Puddifoot and the two waitresses staring at them apprehensively.

"Go and see what's happening in there," Harry overheard Madam Puddifoot whisper to one of the girls, pointing to the ladies' room. The girl disappeared inside.

At that moment a shadow passed in front of the windows of the shop, and Harry heard the sound of fast-falling footsteps, as if someone were running past in front of the store. Jon had heard it too, as he stood and moved to the door, opening it and stepping outside. They looked in opposite directions – Harry toward the end of the street and Jon back toward High Street. Jon shouted, "Deirdre!" and Harry spun around; he could see Deirdre running up the street. As he and Jon watched, she reached High Street and turned out of sight, back toward the center of town.

Jon took a step to follow her, but stopped and turned the other way. Harry, curious, followed him.

At the end of the street was a copse of trees. Jon walked up to it, staring intently into the shadows. It seemed unnaturally dark within the copse – much darker than normal for this time of day, even for a cold, cloudy February. "What are you looking for?" Harry said quietly to Jon.

"For me, I suspect," a deep, quiet voice, one Harry recognized, said from the shadows, and a figure moved forward.

It was Firenze. Harry felt a chill of apprehension run along his spine. If there was nothing for Deirdre or the centaurs to hide, why had she met with him secretly like this, as it was beginning to appear she indeed had. And how did Jon know Firenze was here within the copse?

"What did you say to her?" Jon asked in a steely voice, as Firenze drew to a halt a dozen feet from the pair of them.

"It is not your concern, Jonathan Crown," Firenze said calmly, his deep blues eyes fixed upon Jon's.

"I think it is," Jon disagreed.

"Does it have something to do with Lord Voldemort?" Harry asked suddenly, unable to hold back the question any more.

Firenze looked slowly at Harry. His blue eyes, so expressive, gave Harry the impression that Firenze was in pain somehow, but a pain that he nevertheless bore proudly. It didn't make any sense – what was Firenze hiding from them?

"Harry Potter," he said, his deep blue eyes somehow conveying what Harry felt was genuine affection. "You have come far these past years since I first met you. You have witnessed the return of the Dark Lord and his servant, his rise to power and the death of many on your side, including Albus Dumbledore, and recently, the Dark Lord's apparent demise."

"Apparent?" Harry repeated. "Then you do not consider him to be destroyed?"

"The death of such a powerful being cannot help but be written in the workings of the heavens," Firenze replied, shaking his white-blond head. "We have seen no such sign there, nor any portent."

"So he _is_ alive," Harry said, finally as sure as he could be of it. "Did he fake his death, then? Was that part of his plan, or did Neville defeat him as he said?"

But Firenze shook his head again. "I cannot tell you the answers to these questions, Harry Potter," he said solemnly.

"Why not?" Harry asked quickly.

"Because I do not know the answers to them." At Harry's look of skepticism Firenze continued. "True divination is not Sibyll Trelawney's games of guesswork, suggestion and self-deception. We centaurs peer dimly into the shadowy realm of the future. We do not prophesy: prophecy is a vain human attempt at wish fulfillment. Understand the signs and portents of that which is to come has always been our aspiration." Firenze's tail swished back and forth; he appeared agitated.

"I can speak no more of this, Harry Potter. Jonathan Crown," he said, turning back to Jon. "That which Deirdre sought from you is between you and her alone; I am not a part of it. She wished my insight on the matter, but I can no more give her that than I could tell Harry Potter what I do not know." He turned away from them and vanished into the copse of trees.

"Wait –" Harry began, but Firenze was gone even before the word escaped his lips. He looked at Jon for several long seconds, then turned and began trudging back to Madame Puddifoot's. Jon followed him.

"What was that about, what Firenze was saying about you and Deirdre?" Harry asked as Jon caught up with him and they walked together back toward the Tea Room.

"Just –" Jon hesitated, and Harry could tell that the American was as unsettled as he'd ever seen him. "Just a personal matter between me and her," he finished softly.

"Oh." They walked on in silence for several seconds. "You don't want to talk about it, then?"

"Not really." Jon gave him a small smile. "It's not like you'd probably care to tell me about you and Ginny snogging."

"Oh, right," Harry said, feeling somewhat abashed. _But what would Firenze have to do with Jon and Deirdre snogging each other?_ Harry wondered.

They arrived at the Tea Room. Madam Puddifoot and the two waitresses were watching Harry and Jon approach from the doorway.

"If you're _quite_ done here," Madam Puddifoot said, trying to sound stern but only managing to be shrill. "The girls and I would like to call it an evening." She bustled into the back of the shop, leaving the two waitresses to finish off up front. Ron was still sitting alone at the table where they'd left him, looking morose.

"Sorry," Harry and Jon both said as they re-entered the shop. Jon fished out a handful of Galleons and handed them and his ticket, which had been lying on the table where he and Deirdre had sat, to his waitress.

"Would you be a dear and take care of the bill for me?" he asked her. "The extra is yours."

"Oh!" the girl looked at him and the coins, smiling in delight. "Thank you, sir!" She hurried off as well, followed by the other waitress and closing the door to the back room behind them

Jon turned to Harry. "I'm going to see if I can catch Deirdre."

"She could be halfway back to Hogwarts by now," Harry said, thinking how long it had been since they'd seen her run by.

"Maybe," Jon said, heading toward the door. "But I have to try. I'll see you later." To Ron he said, "I hope things are okay between you and Hermione." Ron nodded glumly but said nothing. Jon left the shop and walked briskly up the street and out of view.

Harry sat down across from Ron. "What _did_ you say to Hermione to make her run into the ladies' room?"

"It's not important," Ron said evasively.

"Obviously it was," Harry argued, "if she ended up running away because of it."

"All right, all right," Ron said irritably, "It was about – _him_."

"You mean Jon? _Again_?" Harry said incredulously. "Didn't you two get it settled what she thinks of him?"

"We did," Ron said, sitting up. Now that he was actually talking about it his moroseness had left him, replaced with high indignation. "No worries there. But when he and Deirdre came in she started carrying on about _them_. 'I wonder if they're really a couple,' or 'Do you think she's pretty too, Ron?' All I'm trying to do is have a nice tea with her," Ron finished heatedly, "and she's off worrying about what's going on with _them_!"

"That's not true, Ron!" Hermione had reappeared at the far end of the room, followed closely by Ginny. "I just asked you what you thought of them together here!"

"And I told you!" Ron retorted. "I thought we were here for _us_, not for them!"

"I think you're _both_ mental," Ginny said, sounding very annoyed with the whole thing.

"_Who asked you_?" Both Ron and Hermione snapped at her.

Harry, not wanting to get into the argument, began looking around, anywhere but at Ron and Hermione. As he did, however, he caught a tiny movement slithering along the floor – too small to be a snake, and barely noticeable, but once his eyes focused on it he realized what it was: the tip of an Extendable Ear.

"Guys," he said loudly. "Hey, _guys_!" When they finally looked at him, he said, while bending down slowly and pointing to the tip of the Ear, "Why don't you continue this on the way back to school, if you have to argue?"

Following Harry's finger, Hermione's jaw dropped in shock when she saw the Extendable Ear. Ron cursed, and Ginny laughed wryly. Silently they turned and walked toward the door while Harry, grabbing both his and Ron's tickets, dropped enough Galleons on them to cover both plus a generous tip for all three women.

Twilight was gathering as the four of them entered High Street for the walk back to Hogwarts. None of them spoke for a long time as they walked past the town's shops, many of them now closed.

"Well," Hermione finally said, sounding pragmatic. "_That_ certainly puts things into perspective."

"Nothing like an eavesdropper to make everyone clam up, eh?" Harry said, grinning.

"Right," Ginny agreed.

"We wouldn't have even gotten into it if Jon had still been here," Ron rationalized. "Where'd he go, anyway?"

"He ran to catch Deirdre, remember?" Harry said. "You were sitting right there, Ron."

"Oh, yeah…" Ron said. "I guess I wasn't paying attention."

They turned onto the carriage road that ran alongside the western and northern walls of the school grounds.

"Jon and Deirdre must be inside by now," Ginny said. "They had quite a head start."

"Oh, yeah," Harry said, suddenly remembering the Marauder's Map ring. "I can show you how the ring Jon made works – we can find out where they are." He looked around to make sure that no other students were behind them. Then, bringing out his wand, he tapped the ring and said, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." The title appeared in the air in front of them in bold red letters, followed by the three-dimensional image of the castle. Hermione and Ron both gasped.

"Wow," said Ginny, in awe.

"Yeah, it's something," Harry agreed. "Watch this – you don't even have to find the person on the map, it can move right to where they are. Where's Jon Crown?" Harry asked, and the image swept, not into the castle, but toward the Forbidden Forest, and into it, until their viewpoint came to two figures moving deeper into the trees. One was labeled "_Jonathan Crown_" and the other "_Deirdre_."

"_Why_ are they going into the Forbidden Forest?" Hermione exclaimed. "Haven't we told them how dangerous it is!"

"That never stopped us," Ron pointed out.

"Maybe they're going to talk to the centaurs," Harry guessed. "Deirdre just talked to Firenze – there might be a reason for her to talk to Magorian, or even Bane. Come on!" He hurried forward, with Ron, Hermione and Ginny trying to keep up.

"Harry, wait up!" Ginny protested. "We can't go that fast in these clothes!" They were, of course, still in their best dresses. Harry slowed enough for them to keep up, but he kept looking behind him impatiently, urging everyone to keep up.

Just outside the school gates he tapped the ring again, saying "Mischief managed!" to hide the ring, then turned east and headed toward the Forbidden Forest. "They entered the Forest almost straight ahead of us," he pointed to its edge, nearly two hundred yards from where they were.

"Harry, we don't have much time before curfew," Ron warned him, looking at his watch. But Harry wasn't listening. He wanted to know why Deirdre and Jon needed to go into the Forest. If, in spite of what McGonagall, Lupin, and even Firenze said, they had business with Bane, he wanted to know what it was…

At the outskirts of the Forest Harry stopped again and reactivated the Map. "Where is Jonathan Crown?" he asked, but the ring only buzzed. Jon was off the map. Harry quickly asked where Deirdre was, but the ring buzzed again.

"Gone?!" Harry said, dumbfounded. "Where could they have gone? They can't have Apparated away."

"Maybe they're out of range of the map," Hermione suggested. "Or maybe Jon's made himself and Deirdre undetectable to it, somehow."

"How could he do that?" Harry demanded.

"Harry, _he made the ring_, didn't he?" Hermione pointed out. "If he had something to hide, why would he give you a ring you could use to detect him, no matter where he was at Hogwarts, unless he had a way to defeat it?"

"So you _do_ think he has something to hide!" Harry said, feeling vindicated. He tapped the ring and muttered the deactivation phrase, then raised his wand and said, "_Lumos_!" The sun was so low in the sky now there was hardly any light beyond the edge of the forest. With Harry's wand, bright light now shone across the edge of the Forest. "Look!" he pointed at the edge of the Forest.

They could see a small but definite path leading into the trees. "I've never seen this path before," Harry remarked.

"We've — we've never gone into the Forest here before," Ron said, looking warily at the path. "We've always done it near Hagrid's hut."

"Come on," Harry said, starting forward. He got to the edge then turned around. Nobody else had moved. "Don't you want to find out what's going on?" he demanded.

"But –" Ginny began. She looked at Ron and Hermione, then sighed. "Oh, hell. Come on, then," she said, falling in behind Harry.

"We've got less than 15 minutes before curfew," Ron said, lighting his own wand and looking at his watch again.

"Five minutes," Harry said. "Give me five more minutes." He pressed forward, following the path inward.

"Five minutes, then," Ron said, doubtfully. "Or the first spider."

"We're too far north for them," Harry said dismissively. "They were closer to Hagrid's hut."

"They probably wanted to make a meal of him," Ron said, beginning to turn green at the idea.

"_Shhh_!" Harry hissed suddenly, so low they hardly heard him. "_Nox_," he whispered. "Ron, put out your wand." When Ron complied, they could still barely see each other; there was a small amount of light coming from in front of them, from a clear 30 or 40 yards ahead.

"Something up ahead," Harry whispered, unnecessarily. They crept forward as quietly as they could until they came upon a clump of bushes through which most of the light they were seeing was showing. He tried to see through the branches, but they were too thick down low to see what was on the other side. Hermione, coming up to one side of the bush, managed to peer around it.

She spun back around quickly, her hands clamped over her mouth. Harry caught her by the arms and mouthed the words "What – is – it?" to her, his face inches from her own, but she shook her head emphatically _NO._

Ginny looked around the bush where Hermione had and pulled her head back immediately, her eyes wide. Harry and Ron looked at her inquiringly, but she put a finger to her lips and shook her head no as well.

Harry and Ron looked at each other, then peered around the edge of the bush. Harry very nearly gasped at what he saw – how could Hermione and Ginny not tell them what he'd just seen? There were two centaurs lying on the ground next to each other, apparently hurt or ill! One of them was thrashing around as if in pain, and both of them were breathing heavily.

Harry made as if he would stand, but Hermione clutched frantically at his arm. He looked down at her, opening his mouth to argue, but she stood upright immediately and pressed her other hand over his mouth. She tugged insistently at his arm while Ginny pulled Ron along as well, until they had retreated almost halfway back to the Forest's edge.

"What was the idea of stopping me?" Harry said furiously as Hermione finally stopped and turned to him. "Those centaurs looked like they needed help!"

"No they didn't," Hermione said emphatically. "They would _not_ have liked it if they'd known we were there!"

"Why not?" Harry demanded. "One of them was hurt!"

"No they weren't, Harry," Ginny said. She was trying not to laugh – though for what reason, Harry couldn't fathom. "They were – well, they were…"

"They were… " Hermione's voice trailed off; she was clearly at a loss for the proper words. "Oh, bollocks," she finally said. "They were – breeding."

"Breeding?" Harry said, trying to process what he'd seen and Hermione had just said. "Oh. _Oh_!" He flushed and looked at Ron, who looked equally embarrassed. "I guess I never thought about how – how centaurs did – that," he finished, falteringly.

"Well, I would hope not!" Hermione sniffed archly.

"Why would they be doing that in the Forest?" Ron asked dully.

Ginny smirked at him. "Where else would they, d'you think?"

"We've got to get back to the school," Hermione said urgently. "It's only a few minutes before curfew!" They hurried back along the path to the edge of the Forest, then angled toward the southward. "We can go in the east side of the castle! If we can get in before the bells finish striking six p.m. Filch can't consider us late!"

"Well, he can," Ron amended. "But at least we'll have a leg to stand on." They hurried along as fast as they could in Hermione and Ginny's fine dresses, past Hagrid's hut, skirting around the Whomping Willow, past the greenhouses and into the eastern entrance just as the bells began to ring six p.m.

Hurrying through the castle's ground floor, the four of them raced into the entrance hall just as Filch was peering at the Naming Scroll, checking for late arrivals.

"Eh?" he grunted, turning as they stopped short in front of him, as he was blocking them from getting at the sign-in book. "What's this? You're late! You're supposed to return to school through the front doors!"

"We thought we saw a unicorn at the edge of the Forest," Harry lied glibly. "We went to look at it, then came through the greenhouse entrance."

"A unicorn, was it?" Filch said in a town suggesting he believed not a word of what Harry had said. "Be that as it may, next time you'll use the front doors, like you're supposed to, and if you're late that'll just be the price you'll pay for sightseeing."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, as Hermione, Ginny and Ron wrote their return times beside their names in the sign-in book. He added his time to the book and the four of them turned toward the Great Hall, where they could hear the evening meal in full swing.

"Stop." At Filch's command they all turned slowly. "Where are these two, then?" the caretaker asked, pointing to two names on the Naming Scroll: _Crown, Jonathan_ and _Recaunt, Deirdre_, which were as boldly displayed as any of their own, indicating they were somewhere on the Hogwarts grounds.

"Haven't seen 'em for a while," Ron said this time. "They were in Hogsmeade earlier this afternoon, though."

"If you see 'em," Filch snapped. "Mind you send 'em down here. Students are supposed to sign in when they get back in the school!"

"We will, sir," Hermione said, trying to sound respectful.

"Blasted students aren't grateful anymore for what they've got!" Filch snarled, shuffling back toward the north door of the entrance hall. "What we need around her is more punishment – a good whipping to bring the lot of you into line!" He disappeared through the door, muttering about handing out even more severe punishments.

Later that evening, after dinner, they were seated in the Gryffindor common room trying to study, although there was a good deal of gossip going on around them about who'd been seen doing what with whom, and what they might expect to see or not see in the next few months. Jon had not returned yet, as far as anyone knew, and there was considerable gossip about him and Deirdre, although no one except Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny knew they had gone into to Forbidden Forest.

"I hope nothing has happened to them," Hermione said worriedly. "It has been several hours, after all – and they really shouldn't gone … where they did."

"What I'd like to know," Harry said, "is what was going on with all the Aurors hanging about in Hogsmeade. I must've seen four or five of them watching us as we walked through town on our way to Madame Puddifoot's. Maybe Tonks'll know…"

"I didn't see any of them," Ron said, pushing his Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook away from him tiredly.

"I did," Hermione said, looking up from the book she was studying, _Advanced Transfiguration_. "But only one; Harry saw four or five of them. That's an awful lot of Aurors in Hogsmeade – they didn't have that many there when Voldemort was supposed to be around."

"Right," Harry said feelingly, hoping his point had been made. "That many Aurors in one place is pretty unusual, even for the Ministry. I wonder, now, if they were watching us – or maybe Deirdre, or even Jon."

"Maybe we ought to say something," Ron suggested, looking at them seriously. "You know, to McGonagall. I mean, they shouldn't be out this late, should they?" It was nearly eleven p.m., well beyond any reasonable time for most Hogwarts students to be wandering about the grounds.

"Maybe," Hermione said, leaning forward over the table to keep her voice low, "Jon's off with his car, wherever he's got it now."

"Maybe he's showing Deirdre the back seat," Ginny said with a smirk, and Hermione reddened.

They finally left off studying, almost a lost cause at the late hour, and joined in the various speculations about which students (and even some teachers) were doing a bit of snogging, and with whom. It was after one a.m. when Harry and Ron finally said goodnight and climbed the stairs to their dormitory. Jon had still not shown up, and Harry had agreed (at Hermione's insistence) to report him missing if he didn't turn up by the next morning. He and Ron changed for bed and slid under the covers, the day finally done.

Harry had a very strange dream that night. He and Ginny were chasing Ron and Hermione, who were centaurs, through the Forbidden Forest. Harry was shouting "We need to stay together!" to them, but they were afraid of something, he thought, that kept driving them on ahead of him. "Wait for us! We'll be back for you!" Ron and Hermione were shouting to him over their shoulders as they galloped away, faster than Harry could run. In the confusion, he'd let go of Ginny's hand, and now she was nowhere around. He was standing in the Forbidden Forest, all alone. Apprehensive, Harry turned around on the spot, looking around him for some clue as to which way to go.

Hearing a rustling of branches behind him, Harry turned to see none other than Albus Dumbledore walking toward him, his wand lighted and held before him, so that his face was illuminated by its whiteness.

"Good evening, Harry," Dumbledore said to him pleasantly, as if they had come across each other strolling through on of the school's corridors rather than in the middle of the Forbidden Forest.

"Hello, sir," Harry said. "I'm glad to see you." And truly, he was; he had no idea of where to go from here, wherever he was.

"Feeling a bit lost, Harry?" Dumbledore had seemed to read his mind, something Harry was now sure he was quite capable of doing. It didn't occur to him that Dumbledore should be dead. He was here – alive – and to Harry this was sufficient for now.

"I'm afraid so, sir," Harry admitted. "I've been looking for Voldemort's Horcruxes."

"Here, in the Forbidden Forest?" Dumbledore seemed amused by that idea.

"No, sir," Harry shook his head. "Honestly, I don't know where they are, any of them. We think we found an artifact –"

"The Helm of Gryffindor," Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, I had wondered for some time whether that was merely a legend or not. It seems," he nodded, smiling, at Harry, "that you and your friends have investigated quite thoroughly, and your efforts have paid off. "I am very impressed," he finished.

"But we haven't been able to find it yet," Harry said, not wanting to disappoint the Headmaster, especially after all the effort they had put in examining memories in the Pensieve, including his obtaining the critical memory from Horace Slughorn.

"A mere technicality, Harry, I assure you," Dumbledore said bracingly. "Once we've proven existence it is merely a matter of examining each piece of evidence until the one that leads us to our goal is found. After all," Dumbledore said, spreading his hands wide. "Once you know a forest exists, the existence of trees is a foregone conclusion."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, not completely understanding. "But it can be like finding a needle in a haystack."

"Ah, touché, Harry, touché!" Dumbledore chuckled, appreciatively. "In any case, then, shall we assume that you are willing to accept my help in finding Voldemort's Horcruxes?"

"Yes," Harry said simply. "I would."

"Splendid!" Dumbledore beamed. "We'll begin, then, whenever you feel ready." He turned and began to walk away from Harry, the light of his wand fading more quickly than Harry expected – in moments he had disappeared into darkness.

"Sir?" Harry called out. "Professor Dumbledore?" But there was only darkness surrounding him, and a feeling of coldness, now that he was alone again.

He sat up suddenly, finding himself in bed, in cool darkness. It was still the middle of the night, and he'd been dreaming, he realized. Sighing, Harry lay back down and was asleep again within seconds.

The next morning Harry and Ron appeared, almost too late for breakfast, in the Great Hall. Hermione was there, reading the _Daily Prophet_. When she saw them she waved; Harry and Ron came over and sat down, murmuring their good mornings as they began filling platefuls of breakfast.

"I saw Jon this morning," she said as they began eating.

"Where was he last night?" Harry asked, pouring milk onto his cornflakes.

"He wouldn't say," Hermione shrugged, looking down the table, where Jon was sitting across from Ginny and some of her friends, chatting.

"Filch is going to have his hide, I'll bet," Ron predicted, following her gaze.

"He's already had a go," Hermione said. "He came in here this morning and practically dragged Professor McGonagall out to the entrance hall to show her where Jon and Deirdre's name were written in the sign-in book just after ours, the time only a minute or two later."

Harry frowned. "Filch talked to us for a minute or two after we signed in," he said. "How come we didn't see them?"

"I _know_!" Hermione said, wide-eyed. "I asked Jon about that, but he just said, 'Hermione, you're probably just wrong about the time.' I know I'm not, though," she added pointedly as Harry looked skeptical.

"So what happened with Filch and McGonagall?" Ron prompted.

"Oh, she just told Filch he was probably mistaken," Hermione said, folding up her copy of the _Prophet_. Ron suddenly reached across and snatched it from her grasp. "Hey!" she cried.

"Look here!" Ron pointed excitedly to the article he'd seen:

**Gringotts Lowers Vault Tournament Fee to 50 Galleons**

"Excellent!" Ron said. "That's much more reasonable than a hundred Galleons!"

"Have you _got_ 50 Galleons, Ron?" Hermione asked in a flat voice.

Ron looked at her, scowling. "That's not the point," he said, but sighed dispiritedly. "Oh, what's the use? I'm never going to get a hold of that much gold."

"Ron," Harry said hesitantly. "You know I've got –"

"No," Ron said firmly. "I've got to find a way to do to this on my own. I've got an idea on what's going on with that Vault, and once I've got that and the fee I'm going to have a go at it."

"What's your idea on the Vault?" Harry asked.

"I'm not saying yet," Ron declared. "But I've got some ideas. I'll know more after we go to the next Round."

Round 10 of the Tournament was only a couple of weeks away, at the end of February. Jon had suggested they could go in his Corvette, but Harry still had no idea what he'd done with the vehicle, or where it was. All of them had been too busy with their N.E.W.T. studies to go to the previous Round, and if Snape was watching for them to go so he could inform the Ministry Aurors about Jon's car, they might have to Apparate there rather than flying.

Thinking about this, Harry realized he would also have to do something about Snape's Imperius Curse on Ron. He'd never actually checked for the Curse; it seemed so obvious what Snape had done, but before he could bring a charge like that to McGonagall, or even Lupin, he'd have to be sure he could prove them. If he couldn't find a way to keep Ron from Snape's clutches, they might have to forego traveling to the Round.


	29. Fred and George's Excellent Adventure

* * *

Chapter 29

**FRED AND GEORGE'S EXCELLENT ADVENTURE**

The weather began an upward swing after Valentine's Day, bringing with it warmer and wetter days. For the seventh years, however, it scarcely mattered as they were buried under an avalanche of N.E.W.T. homework. At least, Harry thought one evening while working on it with Hermione and Ron, most of the teachers were trying to be reasonable about the amount of work they expected done; only one continued to assign oppressive amounts of reading and essay work, and that, of course, was Snape.

As the days rushed forward to the end of February and the 10th Round of the Vault Tournament, Harry found himself hoping for a way to make the trip to London and Diagon Alley. The round would take place the day before Ron's 18th birthday, and Harry knew he was looking forward to going; he'd said so often enough, telling them he wanted just "one more chance to study the Vault in person."

Unfortunately, the one person they needed to talk to about the trip, Jon, had made himself scarce outside of class. The details he'd heard from Ginny was that Jon had gotten wind of a rumor that Ron and Hermione had fought over her interest in him in Madame Puddifoot's on Valentine's Day, and he was avoiding them so there'd be no further reason for them to quarrel. Even though Ginny had assured Jon, she told Harry, that Ron and Hermione quarreled all the time, over nearly anything, hadn't convinced him to rejoin them.

It wasn't until the Friday before the Round before they finally caught up with Jon. He had disappeared after the morning's Transfiguration class; Harry, Ron and Hermione had gone on the Gryffindor common room to study, then to lunch and back to study more until Hermione left for her Ancient Runes class. Jon was in that class as well, and Harry was determined to talk to him after that, one way or another.

Shortly before the end of the class, Harry and Ron stationed themselves, under Harry's Invisibility Cloak, outside the Ancient Runes classroom. "Whatever happens," Harry had whispered as they waited, "If he ditches Hermione we're going to follow Jon like there's a Sticking Charm on us."

"Check," Ron said.

The bell rang and a few moments later the door opened; several seventh-years poured out of the room, Jon being among the first. He set off immediately toward the nearest staircase, ignoring Hermione's calls to him. Harry and Ron were after him immediately, dodging around other students and jostling a few in their haste; Harry was counting on the crowdedness of the corridors to hide the fact that people were being bumped into by an invisible pair of students.

Soon, though, the crowds thinned out as Jon climbed staircase after staircase, evidently heading toward the seventh floor. "Is he going back to the common room?" Ron whispered as they followed him onto the sixth floor staircase leading upwards. Harry shook his head, uncertain.

Instead of heading toward the common room, Jon turned in the opposite direction at the top of the stairs, moving toward the corridor where Barnabas the Barmy's tapestry hung across from a bare wall Harry knew all too well. He smiled grimly to himself; why hadn't he thought of this long ago? To Ron he whispered, "He's headed for the Room of Requirement!"

Rather than walking up and down past the wall three times while concentrating on whatever he needed, however, Jon strode directly to the wall and tapped it three times with his wand. A large, oaken door appeared and Jon opened it. But instead of going inside, he turned, looking in their direction, and said, "I'm been meaning to show this to you, Harry. Why don't you come in and have a look?"

Pulling off the Cloak, Harry and Ron appeared ten feet away. "Blimey," Ron said in wonderment. "You can see through Invisibility Cloaks, too?!"

Jon laughed. "No, I was just guessing you were around somewhere, actually. My footsteps had echoed a bit oddly as I climbed that last staircase and along these deserted corridors. I expect I heard those," he pointed to Ron's boots.

"I thought you were going to put on trainers," Harry said, sounding mildly accusatory.

"Sorry," Ron said. "But, doesn't matter now, does it – we've found him; now we can ask about going to Diagon Alley tomorrow."

"Yeah, well, let's talk about that," Jon said as they walked into the Room of Requirement. Harry and Ron both gasped at what they saw: Jon's entire workroom and garage was now here. His Corvette sat gleaming in the center of the room, which extended high above their heads. Along the walls were rows of workbenches and cupboards. The room was several times the size of the one he'd used in the Shrieking Shack. Looking up, Harry saw a large skylight in the room's ceiling, something that never would have been there normally.

"So this is where you put everything!" Harry exclaimed, and Jon nodded, grinning. "But how could you have moved it all here?"

"Well, I _needed_ to," Jon said, as if that explained everything. When Harry and Ron continued to stare at him inquiringly, however, he continued. "I did it the day I came back early. I suspected that Malfoy would raise a stink, based on what he'd said in London when we got off the train.

"Most of the stuff wasn't hard to move; I have a trunk I can pack it all in; I even let Filch examine it when I brought it in. Of course, he never thought there might be more than one compartment in it," Jon chuckled.

"And the car?" Harry asked, pointing to the Corvette. "You couldn't have flown it in here – there are spells preventing anyone from flying into or over the castle."

"That was a little trickier," Jon admitted. He walked over to the car and pointed to the exhaust pipes along its sides. "These normally carry exhaust gas away from the engine."

"Right," Harry said. He knew that much about cars. Ron listened, looking blankly at them.

"The car can't _fly _overHogwarts," Jon continued, "but it can _levitate_. I added a control that will allow it to levitate, to rise up and down, as high as I need it to. In the ends of these pipes," he said, pointing to them again, "I put nozzles that can be aimed by turning the steering wheel or the altitude lever. The nozzles shoot compressed air, which I installed a tank in the trunk for, that pushes the car forward or changes its direction."

"Pretty impressive," Harry admitted.

" 'Impressive?' " Ron said, gaping at him. "It's brilliant! Is that what the skylight is for, then?"

"Right," Jon said. "I just let the car float up and out of the skylight, aim for the nearest wall, and let the compressed air push me along until I'm past the anti-flying enchantment."

"How many times have you had it out?" Ron asked eagerly.

"Well," Jon said, looking sheepish. "None, actually. The Saturday before this term started, I got into the Room of Requirement and floated it in through the skylight. I just finished adding the levitation control and nozzles a few days ago."

"How did you get into the Room of Requirement just now?" Harry asked curiously. "You didn't appear to use the normal method."

"No, that's kind of a giveaway, isn't it?" Jon said. "I had to do it that way the first time, of course, but then I studied the door to the room a bit and came up with a spell that will do it just as well."

"A _spell_?" Harry and Ron said together, both now impressed.

"Yeah." Jon walked to the door. "You still have to concentrate on what you need, of course. While you're doing that, tap the wall directly across from the troll in the middle of the tapestry that's trying to pirouette and say, '_Desidero Cella Indigus_!' Do that three times and the door to the Room will open to what you need."

"Oh, and by the way," Jon added as he walked to a nearby countertop, taking a book that was lying there and handing it to Harry. "Here's that potion-making book you told me about once."

Harry took the copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_ from Jon and quickly flipped open its pages. Snape's notes were there, scattered throughout the book just as he remembered them. The book still looked fairly fresh and new (owning to the fact that Harry had swapped the cover of a brand-new book onto Snape's copy, and returned the other one to Professor Slughorn last year).

But Harry looked at it as if it were putrescent meat. "I don't want it any more," he said, handing it back to Jon. "It's Snape's, and I'm not taking any help from him, ever again!"

"Alright," Jon said. He tossed the book onto a nearby cupboard. "It'll be here if you change your mind, but I understand." He looked at Ron, then at Harry. "Have you talked, um, to …" Jon trailed off, but he jerked his head back toward Ron.

Harry sighed as Ron looked at them in confusion. "No, I haven't," he admitted.

"Talked to me about what?" Ron demanded. His eyes narrowed. "Did you decide not to go to Diagon Alley tomorrow? That's it, isn't it!" He sounded quite upset and disappointed. "Well I can make it there on my own, no thanks to you, then!" Ron turned and stomped angrily toward the door.

"Ron, it's not about that," Harry said quickly. "It's about you and – and – Snape," he said finally.

"What?" Ron turned to face Harry, now looking confused once again.

"Harry and I think Snape put an Imperius Curse on you a few months ago," Jon said bluntly.

"_What_?!" Ron shouted. "Harry, why the hell didn't you tell me?!"

"Because you might get upset and yell at me!" Harry shouted back. "Because I was trying to figure out what to do!"

"Let's stop yelling and find out," Jon cut in, taking out his wand again. He made several passes over Ron, muttering strange phrase in an unknown language, with Harry looking on intently. After several seconds, Jon stopped, said "Hmm," and made several more passes. He then stopped and looked wryly at Harry, frustration evident on his face.

"What'd you find?" Ron asked anxiously, looking from him to Harry.

"Nothing," Jon said. "There's no Imperius Curse."

"There has to be!" Harry insisted at once. "I saw Snape interrogating him, right outside this room!"

"Interesting," Jon said, looking at the door to the Room of Requirement. "I wonder why he did it there, so far from his office?"

Harry hadn't thought about that. "Maybe he expected Ron to be able to get in here for some reason."

"Yeah," Jon nodded grimly. "And I think it was to find _this room_," he said, gesturing with his wand at the room they were in. "He might've guessed this is where I hid my car and other things from the Shrieking Shack. Damn!" Jon began to pace.

"If Snape's checking the Naming Scroll," Jon pondered, walking back and forth in front of his car, "I'll have to put a Proximity Charm on it for him as well as Filch."

"What for?" Ron asked, but Harry had already deduced the answer.

"The Naming Scroll is like the Marauder's Map," he said quickly. "It can't see you when you're in the Room of Requirement!"

"Correct," Jon nodded. "I have a Proximity Charm on the entrance hall; when Filch enters that Room, I'm alerted he's near the Naming Scroll, and I exit the Room of Requirement until he leaves again."

"But what if someone's outside there when you walk out?" Ron asked, looking at the door.

"That could be a problem. Fortunately, it hasn't come up yet," Jon admitted. "That corridor isn't used much; there's only one staircase that way, and it's very inconvenient unless you're a teacher, since it leads to where most of their private living areas are."

"Like Professor Trelawney's," Harry said. He remembered finding her in front of the Room once, trying to get in to hide her empty sherry bottles.

"But wait a minute!" Ron said, finally aggravated enough to speak out. "_What about the Imperius Curse Snape's got on me_?!"

"He doesn't have one on you, Ron," Jon said, shaking his head. "Sorry, Harry, but there's no sign of that curse on him."

Harry grunted in frustration. "Could he have removed it, then?"

"I checked for that, but there's nothing that would affect his mind except what looks like a Confundus Charm or a Confusing Concoction, cast or administered several months ago."

"Snape," Harry said through clenched teeth. "Has to be. But why would he give Ron a Confusing Concoction? That doesn't make any sense."

"It does," Jon said, a hard look in his eyes, "if Snape used it to break down Ron's resistance to suggestion. I think he hypnotized Ron."

"Hypnotized?" Ron repeated, looking lost. "What's _that_?"

Harry knew what it was, though. "Pretty clever of Snape, to avoid an Unforgivable Curse by using regular hypnotism instead. It's a Muggle magician's trick for making people do things they wouldn't normally do," he added, for Ron's benefit.

"And it means there's an easy solution to the problem," Jon said. He pointed his wand at Ron and said, "_Obliviate_!" Ron's eyes went blank and Harry, who'd jumped forward as Jon said the spell, caught Ron before he fell.

"Why did you do that!?" he said angrily, giving Jon a searing look. "Making him forget what happened isn't going to help!"

"It was a very specific Memory Charm," Jon said mildly, his wand now by his side. "I've only made him forget all the post-hypnotic suggestions Snape gave him. He'll come around in a few seconds without being any the worse for wear."

And indeed, a few seconds later Ron's eyes refocused and he looked at Harry as the latter held tightly onto him. "What'd you grab me for, Harry?" he asked.

"Never mind," Harry said, letting go of him. "Okay," he said evenly, looking at Jon. "If that's straightened Ron out, then what do we do about tomorrow?"

"Just like any other Saturday liberty," Jon said easily. We'll sign out after nine a.m. and head toward Hogsmeade. But instead of going there, we'll sneak back up to this corridor, take the car, leave through the skylight and head for London and Diagon Alley."

"And how are we going to sneak back into the castle? The fifth- and sixth-year prefects will still be here, and the Slytherins would like nothing better than to catch us up to something."

"Leave that to me," Jon said confidently. "The only thing is, we should keep the numbers low for this trip, at least. No more than you, me, Ron and Hermione, at most."

"What? No Deirdre?" Ron asked. Harry wondered if he sounded a bit – disappointed?

"She's been a bit … moody, lately," Jon said, sounding suddenly evasive. "It's not a big deal, she just goes through periods when she's not feeling terribly social."

"Right, then," Harry said. "We'll meet for breakfast in the Great Hall, and at nine a.m. sign out and head for Hogsmeade. Then you'll get us back inside and we'll go from here to London. That's the plan."

"And just one more thing, Harry," Jon said. "Bring your Invisibility Cloak, please."

"Okay," Harry said. He was puzzled by the request, but since he'd already decided to bring it, he had no problem with the idea.

"Very good," Jon said. "Off we go, then," he said imitating a British accent, and opened the door to the Room of Requirement with a flourish for Harry and Ron who, chuckling, walked through it, and right into Hermione.

"And _what's_ the big idea of keeping me locked out here?" she demanded heatedly as Ron backed away from her hastily. "I've been pounding on this wall for ten minutes!"

"How did you know where to look for us?" Harry said, surprised.

"Lucky guess," she said shortly. "_Well_?"

"Sorry, Hermione," Jon said apologetically. "We just didn't hear you. But the good news is, Ron had been hypnotized, not Imperiused, and now his hypnotism's been cured, and we're going to London on Saturday." He smiled cheerfully and walked back down the corridor the way she had come.

Hermione watched him walk away, then rounded on Harry and Ron. "_What_ Imperius Curse?"

"Ah," Harry said, looking sheepish. "It turns out I was wrong about that."

"Fortunately," Ron said gratefully as he and Harry walked off together, leaving her staring after them.

Saturday morning at nine a.m. found the four of them standing in line to sign out for liberty. Filch was eyeing each of them closely, and ran his golden search wand very carefully over each of them. Finding nothing proscribed by school rules or Ministry policy, however, he jerked a thumb at the door.

"Off with the lot of you, then," he said irritably. "And don't forget to come back into the school the same way!"

They set off down the steps in front of the school then walked toward the entrance gate to the north. But Jon had something else in mind. "Before we leave," he said, pointing toward the Quidditch pitch, I want to look at something over here.

"Do we have time for this?" Ron said impatiently as they angled toward the pitch.

"We can make the time," Jon said, looking back at him and smiling. "Don't worry – I'm only mad north-by-northwest, Ron."

He walked behind the broom shed, out of view of the castle, then reached in his pocket for a deck of Exploding Snap cards. Holding it out in front of him, Jon said, "Everyone put a finger on this. Alright. One! Two! –"

"Oh no, Jon!" Hermione said reprovingly. "You didn't create a –"

"—Three!" and Harry felt the by-now familiar irresistible pull drawing him inwards. His feet left the ground and there was a whirling howl of wind and swooping colors. Then, just as suddenly, they touched down again, in a by-now well-known corridor. The deck of cards dropped to the floor of the corridor.

"—Portkey," Hermione finished saying then looked around. "Oh, dear." She was worried, Harry knew, because Portkeys were only supposed to be created under Ministry control and supervision.

"That was wicked!" Ron said enthusiastically. "What a great way to sneak back into school!"

"Dumbledore sent me to his office at Hogwarts from the Ministry of Magic using a Portkey once," Harry remembered. There had been something vaguely unsetting about that when it happened, Harry recalled now, but he'd been to upset about Sirius dying to say anything to Dumbledore then. It had slipped his mind until this moment, but Jon's Portkey had jogged his memory. "I wonder why Voldemort hasn't just used a Portkey to get his Death Eaters into the school."

"Probably because Dumbledore had protections on the school grounds to keep anyone from using a Portkey to get in except him," Jon replied.

"So the school's not protected?" Ron said, suddenly alarmed. "D'you mean You-Know— oh all right, Hermione! _Voldemort_ – could get in here if he wanted to?"

"No," Jon said, shaking his head. "Because Professor McGonagall, the current Head of the school, put her own protections in place when she took the job over."

"So how did you break those protections, then?" Hermione asked.

"I didn't break them," Jon said simply. "I just got Professor McGonagall's permission to use the Portkey and the means to circumvent her spell."

"Why would she do that?" Harry asked, but Jon waved off the question.

"We can get into that later," he said quickly. "But right now, Harry, we need to know where Snape is. Will you find him on the Marauder's Map, please, and quickly? While you're doing that –"

Jon stepped up to the wall directly across from the pirouetting troll on the tapestry and tapped the wall three times. The oaken door appeared, as did the three-dimensional image of the school as Harry activated the Map, and Harry said, "Where is Severus Snape?"

The image shifted and spun, passing through walls and floors until it showed a figure labeled "_Severus Snape_" – which was now climbing the staircase to the seventh floor, only a few corridors away.

"Quicker than I expected him to be," Jon said with a grim smile. "Let's get inside, hurry!" He opened the door and the four of them darted inside. Jon pulled the door shut, and Harry deactivated the ring.

They piled into the car and Jon pushed a button on the dashboard that opened the skylight above him. "Alright," he said with a wry smile. "Here goes nothing." He pulled back on the pitch lever.

The Corvette began to float in the air, rising slowly toward the ceiling and the skylight. Jon leaned out the driver's side window, watching to see how well his aim was at the opening. They passed slowly through the skylight; halfway through, they stopped and Jon put his arm out the window for a moment, muttering to himself. He then leaned back in and they continued to rise in the air. After they were forty or fifty feet above the roof, Jon tapped the button to close the skylight, then the one to make them invisible.

Now invisible, they rose higher and higher into the air. Several hundred feet above the castle, Jon put his foot down on the petrol feed and the Corvette surged forward. Harry and the others could hear the hiss of compressed air from the nozzles on either side. Jon pointed to a small red light on the dashboard.

"I have that set to turn green when we're clear of the anti-flight enchantments," he said. "Shouldn't be too long – ahh, there we are!" he grinned as the light went green. He turned off levitation mode and the car surged forward, now magically flying, and Jon curved the car around until they were flying toward London.

"Oh!" Hermione said suddenly, remembering something. "What happened to the Portkey?"

"It's on the floor of the corridor," Jon said, concentrating on setting the autopilot for the Leaky Cauldron. "Snape'll probably find it. He'll probably try some detection charms on it, to see if there's any magical residue. But it's an Exploding Snap deck, remember –?"

Harry and Ron chuckled, and Hermione smiled in spite of herself.

"And there's an enchantment on the cards to go off all at once if anyone tries a detection spell on them," Jon finished, grinning.

It was a very pleasant trip as they contemplated, among other things, the look on Snape's face when that deck of cards blew up, quite literally, in his face. As they approached London, however, Jon got serious about their arrival.

"If we take what Snape's been insinuating seriously," Jon argued, "and I think we have to, we don't want to be seen in Diagon Alley

"And that's where the Invisibility Cloak comes in," Harry deduced.

"Check," said Jon.

"What will you do about your car?" Hermione asked. "If Ministry Aurors find it you'll most likely be taken out of school before the end of term."

"I thought of that, too," Jon nodded. "So I installed this little James Bond device –" he pointed to another button on the dashboard. "It'll disguise the Corvette as another type of car."

They flew over London and Charing Cross Road, but bypassed the parking lot Jon normally used for a different one a few blocks away. "A further walk," Jon shrugged, "but it can't be helped, if we're going to avoid the Aurors." He settled into an unused parking slot and looked around carefully for any suspicious-looking bystanders. Finding none, Jon pushed the "James Bond" button and turned off invisibility on the car. "You three get out under the Cloak," he told them, taking off his regular glasses and putting on a pair of sunglasses. "I'll pay for the parking then duck under the Cloak when no one's looking."

Harry got out first on the passenger side, holding the Invisibility Cloak so Hermione, then Ron, could stand up underneath it with him. They pushed the door shut and turned to look at the Corvette. It didn't resemble anything like a Corvette now; it had become a small, two-door hatchback that Harry recognized as a Citroën AX.

"Urrgh," Ron said, wrinkling his nose. "Nobody'd suspect _that_ was a flying car."

Jon paid for parking then walked between two car and stopped, leaning over so he was nearly out of view. Harry, Ron and Hermione, walking up behind him, passed the Invisibility Cloak over him and they continued on walking, now all under the Cloak. It was slow-going with four people trying to coordinate their steps, but they managed it and soon were walking up to the grubby little doorway that led to the Leaky Cauldron and beyond, to Diagon Alley.

Harry pushed the door open and they slid quickly inside, moving carefully to avoid jostling anyone. Tom, the bartender, clicked his tongue impatiently at the open door and went to close it. Making their way through the bar, they entered the small courtyard, tapped the correct brick in the wall and entered Diagon Alley.

It took some time to make their way to number 93, Diagon Alley, the location of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Harry suggested they stay under the Cloak until they reached the back of the store, so they made their way carefully around customers and down narrow aisles until they reached the back room, where Harry whipped off the Cloak and everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

"Well, well! Look who's decided to grace us with their presence once again," Fred said, leaning out of doorway in the hallway behind them. "It's Britain's four 'Most Wanted Wizards,' as heard on the Wizarding Wireless Network."

George's head popped into the corridor as well. "Ah, so 'tis!" Both Fred and George left the room and joined them, shaking Harry and Jon's hands.

"What did you mean about 'Most Wanted Wizards' a minute ago?" Harry asked as Fred shook his hand.

"We've had Aurors flitting in and out of here for the past two weeks," Fred said, now looking grim. "Wanting to know when you'd be here next and trying to leave Wizard's Eyes in odd places to spy on us."

"We've been dropping them in other shops or taking them apart to study," George added airily. "They're not very hard to fool, really."

"Oh, no!" Hermione said, looking at Harry. "They really are out to find us here, aren't they?"

"We sent Ron an owl about it," Fred said, looking at his youngest brother. "Didn't he tell you?" Harry, Hermione and Jon turned to look at Ron, who smiled weakly.

"I, um, thought it was pretty well decided we were going," he said, sounding rather dodgy.

"It would have been nice to know the Ministry might've been waiting here for us, Ron!" Hermione said, thoroughly annoyed.

"Well, that's why Jon suggested we come in under the Invisibility Cloak," Harry said, nodding at him.

"A wise decision," George intoned. "They will be watching for you at the Vault Tournament today, no doubt about that."

"That means we can't be there today," Harry said flatly, looking at Ron, who shook his head in disappointment.

"At least, not as ourselves," Harry finished. "Fred, George, do you have any Polyjuice Potion we can borrow?"

"We've had a cauldron simmering for a month now," George said, grinning.

"We thought it might come in handy, when we heard what the Ministry's been up to at Hogwarts," Fred added.

"Cool," Ron said, "but who are we going to change into? We didn't bring anybody's hair to use."

"Well," Fred and George looked at each other, their faces inscrutable. "I suppose we can think of a few people you could pose as…"

"And what about me?" Hermione asked plaintively.

"I'm sure we can talk Verity into loaning us a hair sample," George said airily.

Verity, however, was decidedly uninterested in such an arrangement. "With all due respect, Mr. Weasley and Mr. Weasley," she said firmly when the idea was broached to her. "I don't want anyone else running around and doing things looking like me. Not even Hermione Granger. Sorry, Hermione," she added apologetically.

"It's all right," Hermione said, without much reluctance. "Well, I think that means I'll have to sit this Round out."

"Not really," Jon, with something like a mischievous grin on his face, said. "Polyjuice Potions works on cross-gender changes, you know. Harry told me that Malfoy's buddies, Crabbe and Goyle, changed into little girls to keep watch when he was using the Room of Requirement last year."

"Yes, and I'm neither of them, so –"

"Hermione," Ron cut over her. "You know you want to try it. Not like we need more than one copy of Fred and George around," he added hastily.

"Actually, that's just what the world does need more of now," Fred said, smirking. "There's a critical shortage of Freds and Georges in the world."

"Fine," said Hermione, folding her arms across her chest. "I'll do it. But not because I want to – because it would probably raise more questions if either of you were seen in public without the other."

The twins looked at each other. "What do you think she means by that?" George said.

"I think she means that you're helpless without me, dear brother," Fred informed him, placing a hand over his own heart in mock sentiment.

"I beg to differ, bro – I thought she meant you were helpless without me," George corrected him.

"Well, whatever you're going to do," Verity said flatly. "You'd better hurry up and decide." She held up the morning's copy of the Prophet. "They've moved the Round up an hour, to 1 p.m."

It was obvious they couldn't go out for lunch, so Verity went out to collect it for everyone, while Hermione scanned the _Prophet_ and Harry, Ron and Jon played a game of Exploding Snap in Fred and George's office while they minded the store.

"They've put quite a few changes in for the Tournament this year," Hermione said after a few minutes of reading the paper. "Beyond just reducing the fee, they've also cut back on the time allocated – you're only allowed 15 minutes now."

Ron was nodding – he evidently knew about that already. "That should speed up the rounds considerably," Jon commented as he shuffled the deck for another game.

"The way they were going there at the end of last year, though," Harry pointed out, as Jon dealt a new hand, "looked like they might run out of people to try opening it. If their own Curse-breakers can't open it, and nobody else wants a go at it, what are they going to do with it?"

"It looks like they already did it, Harry," Ron replied, picking up his cards and glancing at them as the others did likewise. "When the supply of contestants went down they increased demand by lowering the entry fee to 50 Galleons."

"But they also decreased the amount of time you can try to open it as well," Harry countered.

"Probably just as well," Ron replied. "We were all getting bored to tears waiting 20 or 25 minutes for each contestant to do anything."

Verity returned with lunch, which Fred and George had generously bought for everyone (although Ron complained that his hamburger wasn't made correctly, Fred noted that he finished it off in less than a minute and was still hungry); Verity then went back out front to mind the store while the three youngest Weasley brothers and Harry, Hermione and Jon formulated their game plan.

"Oh," Verity turned to add as she was walking out. "I did see a few gentlemen from the Ministry walking around when I was getting lunch. So whatever you do, be careful out there."

"Right-o, Verity," Fred said cheerfully. After she'd walked out front he turned to the others. "Okay. It seems pretty straightforward. There's two of me and George, and two pairs of you, so if you go out as two pairs of Fred and George, and stay separated on opposite sides of the crowd, you're not going to attract much attention."

He brought out four sets of clothes. "These were carefully selected from our ensemble, the Fred and George Business Wizards' Collection," he said, sounding like an advert from the Wireless Wiarding Network. "I'll think you'll find them quite comfortable, but stylish." Hermione took one of the sets, looking askance at Fred with a half-amused expression on her face, and went to the lavatory to change, while Harry, Ron and Jon changed quickly in their office.

When Hermione returned a few minutes later, they all looked rather bulky – Fred and Geoge's clothes were much too large for Harry, Jon or Hermione, and while Ron was taller than either of them, his thinner frame failed to fill in them in at all.

George came up with a tray with four cups filled with raw Polyjuice Potion – a dark, mud-like substance that bubbled sluggishly. Also on the tray were two small vials, one labeled "F" and the other "G," and each containing a few strands of flaming red hair, and two pairs of tweezers. "The only thing to decide now," he said, "is how the four of you are splitting up."

"Me and Harry," Ron said immediately.

"Jon and me," Hermione said at the same moment. They looked at each other in surprise.

Fred and George were looking at each other as well. "That was a pretty easy decision, it seems," Fred said, with an eyebrow raised. He picked up the vial marked "F" and a tweezers, opened the vial and extracted a strand of red hair and dropped it into one of the cups of Polyjuice. The potion hissed loudly, frothed and bubbled, then a moment later, settled again, now with a rather pinkish color to it.

"Nice color you have there, Fred," Ron said, staring into the cup, his nose wrinkled at the thought of having to drink bits of Fred.

"Wait'll you see mine," George said, taking up his vial and dropping a hair into another cup. The potion frothed and bubbled as well then turned – a rather pinkish color as well.

"I don't see any difference," Ron said, his mouth twisted as he squinted into the cup George had just activated.

"Of course there is," Hermione said, sounding as if she couldn't believe it was obvious. "George's potion is more orange than Fred's is, and –"

"Hermione, it's bad enough I have to drink it," Ron cut her off. "I don't _care_ what ruddy colors they are!"

"Right, then," Fred said. "It's ten minutes of one. Drink up, boys and girls, it's almost showtime."

Hermione reached out and took one of George's potions. Ron took the other, so Harry and Jon each took one of Fred's. "On three, then," Harry said. "One, two, and –" and they all drained their cups.

A minute – and quite a bit of gasping and retching – later, Fred and George proudly regarded two sets of identical copies of themselves. "Just imagine how much work we could get done," Fred commented to George, "if they worked half as hard as we did."

The two other Freds chuckled, but one of the Georges – the one where Ron had been standing – made a rude hand gesture at him.

Fred turned to George. "How do I look in glasses, d'you think?""I think they suit you," George said thoughtfully. "Makes you look halfway intelligent." Harry realized that he was still wearing his glasses, which were making things blurry now. He took them off and put them in a shirt pocket, as did Jon.

"Well, there you are, then, "George said. "Of you go, to the great Vault Tournament."

"Don't do anything we wouldn't do," Fred added.

"Which isn't saying much," George noted.

"So true," Fred agreed.

Harry hoped this would work, at least for Ron's sake. He'd wanted to be here more than any of them; this whole Vault business had become rather stale in Harry's mind. At least, while Ron enjoyed the competitions he, Harry, could be thinking about what to do about Voldemort's Horcruxes. His dream about Dumbledore had inspired him to renew his efforts.

It was decided that Jon and Hermione would leave the shop first, heading for the far side of the crowd in front of Gringotts; Harry and Ron would follow a minute or two later, and stay on the near side. It would be very unlikely they could be seen by anyone at the same time, and, Harry hoped, any Aurors that encountered both groups would chalk it up to them moving around in the crowd.

It was a few minutes before one. There was no one in the store at the moment so both pairs of Fred and George walked to the front of the shop, followed by the real Fred and George, to see them off. "Blimey," Verity said. "It's just like that story some Muggle once wrote, about a whole group of red-headed men."

"You should see our house at Christmas," Fred (the real one) said.

"We'll walk to Gringotts on this side of the street," George (that is, Hermione) said to Fred (Harry) as they started out. Harry nodded and gave a Fred-like thumbs-up gesture.

As they were about to leave, however, Ron suddenly reached into the robe he was wearing. "Wait a minute," he said to Harry. "I'll be right back!" He dashed back to Fred and George's office. _What could he have forgotten_, Harry wondered.

Ron appeared a half-minute later, stuffing a journal and some sheets of parchment into a pocket inside his robe. "Ready," he said eagerly.

They set out toward Gringotts, walking on the opposite side of the street Jon and Hermione used. As it was, they still got a few curious stares from people, as if they weren't quite sure they had just seen them or not, before.

"What's the journal and extra parchment for?" Harry asked Ron as they made their way to the bank.

"It's Uncle Archie's journal," Ron explained. "There's some drawings in it I want to compare to the Vault."

"You mean there's pictures of the Vault in that journal?" Harry said, incredulous. "Why didn't you tell me?" he demanded.

"No, not the Vault!" Ron said irritably. "Pictures of the grandfather clock – he built that, you know."

"Why would you compare your great-uncle's grandfather clock with the Mystery Vault?" Harry asked, now completely confused. "What's one got to do with the other?"

"I _don't know_!" Ron said, getting even more annoyed with Harry's questions. "That's what I'm trying to figure out!"

They arrived at the Bank as Bill was going through the updated rules for the Tournament. The changes were pretty much as Hermione had read from the _Prophet_: The registration fee was now 50 Galleons and the time limit was now 15 minutes. Everything else was pretty much the same.

"Can we get closer?" Ron said to Harry. "I can't see enough details on the Vault to draw a good picture from here."

"We don't want to get too close," Harry warned. "Someone might be able to see both us and Hermione and Jon." But they began pushing their way slowly toward the front of the crowd.

Meanwhile, Bill had introduced the first contestant, a proud-looking wizard in a deep blue and gold robe, who as soon as the hourglass turned over to begin his 15 minutes began spinning the dial, moving and rotating tiles on the face of the Vault.

"Merlin's beard, look at those things move!" Harry heard one bystander, a middle-aged wizard, say aloud. It was true – this contestant clearly had some goal in mind, from the way the tiles were sliding and rotating. Even Ron had stopped consulting his great-uncle's journal and was watching intently.

After a minute of watching, however, Ron leaned over to Harry and whispered, "He's not going to solve it."

"Why not?" Harry wanted to know why Ron thought so.

"The picture's wrong," Ron said.

"_What_ picture?" Harry asked loudly, now confused.

"Keep it down!" Ron hissed. "Come on, we need to get closer."

Harry started to protest they were too close already but Ron had already moved off, motioning for him to follow. Sighing, Harry pushed forward behind Ron, moving closer to the platform where the Mystery Vault stood.

Time had run out for the proud-looking wizard, and he was walking off the platform, looking upset. He disappeared into the crowed as Bill announced the next contestant, a 10-year old boy and his parents, who would actually perform the magic and open the Vault for him.

"They're going to let a _10-year old_ try to open the Vault?" Ron looked up, incredulous, from the drawing he was making of the front of the Vault.

"I don't think there was any age restrictions in the rules," Harry mused, watching the boy push his token into the hourglass timer. It became immediately obvious the boy and his father, who was wielding his wand, had been practicing for this, because the boy began calling out numbers while his father rapidly manipulated the dial, causing the tiles to slide and spin in quick succession.

"Fred! George!" an unfamiliar voice behind them said. Harry turned around to see a stern-faced man with short brown hair solemnly regarding both of them. "I don't often see you outside your shop these days." He extended a hand, which Harry shook automatically, then turned to Ron, who stuck his charcoal pencil in his mouth so he could shake the man's hand as well.

"So what are you up to here at the Vault Tournament?" the man asked them. The question was mean as conversation but Harry couldn't help but feel there was an edge to it, as if the man was on the prowl for information. A warning went off somewhere in Harry's brain: this man was an Auror.

"Oh, just on the lookout for new ideas," Harry said, trying to banter the way the real Fred was so good at. "You know how it is – always looking for a way to turn something into gold."

"Oh, I know it," the Auror said with a mirthless smile. "You two keep me busy enough making sure you're toeing the Ministry line with the stuff you keep coming up with."

"Well, we like to do our part," Ron said with a weak smile.

"I shouldn't complain, I suppose," the Auror said. "From what I've heard, you two could just as easily be working here at Gringotts with your brother, with all the stuff you know about curses and so on. It's almost like you two wrote the book on that stuff."

"Maybe," Harry said airily. "But we were never cut out for that kind of job. Bill likes it, though; but you know us: we'd probably want to keep the gold we found, or go round at night emptying vaults." _That was a stupid thing to say_! Harry scolded himself.

The Auror snorted. "Actually, I wouldn't be a bit surprised," he said candidly. "But that's the point of keeping your gold and such at Gringotts, isn't it? It's the safest place on Earth. Well, you boys take it easy," the Auror said, turning back into the crowd. "I'll see you around."

"See you," Harry said cheerfully. As soon as the Auror was gone, though, he sagged. "Who _was_ that guy?" he whispered to Ron. "Did they ever mention him to you?"

"Dunno," Ron shrugged. "They say they get Ministry folk coming by all the time, checking up on them."

"How long has this been going on?"

"Since they opened," Ron said. He looked at Harry a little edgily. "Uh, they said not to bother you with it, it's just the price of doing business in Diagon Alley – the Ministry keeps a close eye the goings-on there. You're – er – not going to mention it to them, are you?"

Harry shook his head. "Don't worry about it," he said, and Ron relaxed.

The 10-year old was still reciting numbers for his father. Ron looked at the tiles and shook his head. "He's not going to get it, either," he said. "That's all wrong, it's –"

"_When_ are you gonna tell me what all this is about?" Harry interrupted Ron's critique. "What are you really trying to do with this thing?"  
"I've _told_ you – I'm trying to figure out how to open it!" Ron said, waving the journal and drawings he'd made at Harry. "On my own, without having Hermione help me. Or at least, not much," he amended quickly. "I had some ideas over the Christmas holidays, and wanted to come and make some sketches of the Vault to see if they would hold up."

There was a wail from the platform in front of them; Harry and Ron both turned to see the 10-year old lying on the platform, kicking and screaming, as his father stood over him, looking embarrassed and angry. "What happened?" Ron said aloud.

A bystander answered. "Time ran out and the father stopped, but the kid wanted to keep on going. He got a bit upset when his dad said 'no.'" As they watched, the father picked his son up by the back of his robe, set him on his feet, and swatted him across the backside with his wand. The crowd laughed and the boy, mortified, ran across the stage, bawling uncontrollably, to where his mother was standing. She gave her husband a piercing look then turned and escorted her son off the stage. The father followed them both, walking stiffly.

"I can't believe I was ever that young," Ron said softly.

"Me either," Harry agreed. "And I'd _never_ act that in front of my uncle or aunt…"

"Too right," Ron said feelingly. "Mum would've pinned my ears back in a heartbeat for acting like that!"

Bill began announcing the next contestant. "Have you got what you need?" Harry asked, suddenly ready to go.

"Yeah…" Ron said, but he was hesitating. "But… I just want to watch this last contestant, okay?"

"Fine," Harry said, not wanting to argue. He still hadn't had much chance to think about Voldemort, or the Horcruxes, or exactly what to do to begin finding them again. Lucius Malfoy seemed to know where at least one, the Helm of Gryffindor, was, but he wasn't sharing that information, even with his own son. Harry wondered if his wife, Narcissa, knew. Or Narcissa's sister, Bellatrix Lestrange.

Thinking of her, Harry's anger at Sirius's death, which he'd held in check for so long, surged back momentarily. She was still at large after all this time; over two years had passed since she escaped from Azkaban. Harry had long wished for a chance to confront her somewhere along the way to ridding the world of Voldemort, and those Horcruxes.

Only two of the six Horcruxes they believed existed had been disposed of so far: Tom Riddle's diary and Marvolo Gaunt's ring. From another memory, viewed by Harry and Dumbledore last year, they deduced that Voldemort had stolen Helga Hufflepuff's cup and Salazar Slytherin's locket from Hepzibah Smith, murdered her, and framed Smith's house-elf Hokey for the crime. Earlier this year Harry had all but confirmed that the Malfoy family had taken Godric Gryffindor's helmet, acquired somehow by the Crabbe family, from them for Voldemort, and now had it hidden for them in some safe place.

The last Horcrux, Dumbledore had speculated, was a living creature, not an object: Voldemort's snake, Nagini. The snake, Harry surmised, would be with Voldemort, or near him.

"That's all we have for this week, everyone," Bill Weasley's amplified voice brought Harry out of his ruminations. "We'll be back for the next round in about a month. All of you have a pleasant afternoon!"

"I guess the last person didn't win, either," Harry said, looking around at the crowd, now dispersing.

"Not even close," Ron said with a smile. "Weren't you watching?"

"I was thinking about – things."

"Well, we'd better get a move-on," Ron said, perusing his watch. "We've got about five minutes to get back to the shop before our hour's up."

"Did you get all the drawings you needed?" Harry asked as they made their way back toward Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

"Yep," Ron said happily, patting the journal and parchment sheets under his arm. "Jon showed me a handy spell for drawing a picture, you can make an almost exact drawing –"

"Oi! Weasleys!" A shopkeeper had seen them and called out as they walked past his shop. "I've got a bone ter pick with you two!"

"It's Mr. Shunpike," Ron muttered under his breath to Harry. "He owns the second-hand robe shop,"

"Shunpike?" Harry recognized the name. "Stan Shunpike's dad?"

"Yeah," Ron said, smiling toothily as the man, an older, stouter version of Stan himself, approached them, red-faced. "He's a grouchy old – _Hi_, Mr. Shunpike! How are you this fine day?"

"Not very ruddy well, thank you!" the man said, his face florid. "Whachoo mean leavin' this here in me shop?!" He thrust a small flat, round object the size of a pea under Harry's nose.

Harry pulled his face back to see what it was. "What is that?" he asked automatically.

"'S a ruddy Wizard's Eye, 'swot it is!" Shunpike said, poking another finger at Harry's face, making him blink. "Found it this affernoon, an' you were in 'ere this mornin' pokin' aroun' me clothes! Say it ain't true!" he demanded.

Harry wouldn't have doubted that Fred did leave it in his shop, especially since he'd all but admitted it earlier today, but Harry didn't especially care to be shouted at for it, especially since he hadn't done it. Plus, the nervous look on George's (Ron's) face told Harry that their hour was almost up.

"Sorry, Mr. Shunpike," Harry said hurriedly, "But we have to get back to the shop." He and Ron dashed away.

"I'll be talking to Mike about this! Count on it!" Shunpike shouted after them, shaking his fist.

Harry and Ron raced the last several yards to Fred and George's shop, dodging several bewildered witches and wizards, and ran through the aisles into the back room. By the time they'd stopped, the transformation had reversed itself; Harry and Ron were back to their old selves again.

"That was cutting it mighty fine," Fred said from the office, smirking at them.

"Old man Shunpike stopped us," Ron said accusingly, "because of the Wizard's Eyes _you've_ been dropping in his shop."

"Well, the jokes on him, because I didn't drop one there today," Fred said with a grin. "So he's probably found one the _real_ Aurors left."

"He said he was going to tell Mike about it," Harry said as he discarded Fred's clothes and began putting on his own.

"Mike's the Auror who patrols Diagon Alley," George said, coming up the hallway from the workroom, having heard Harry and Ron's voices. "If I had a Galleon for every time I heard someone say, 'I'm telling Mike!' I'd buy Gringotts."

"Where's Jon and Hermione?" Ron asked, looking around.

"Not back yet," George said. "Obviously."

"Whaddaya mean, 'not back yet?' " Ron cried, alarmed. "Their potions have worn off by now!"

"Very probably," Fred said calmly.

"So _what do we do_?" Ron shouted.

"We wait," George said, "for a sign."

"Just calm down, little bro," Fred said preemptively, as Ron opened his mouth to argue. "They're both very smart people – if they can get back without our help, they will. And if they need help, they'll send us a message or a sign of some kind."

"But –"

Suddenly there were two loud _cracks_ just outside Fred and George's office. Rushing out of the office, they found Jon and Hermione standing there, both looking disheveled in Fred and George's bigger clothes.

"Welcome back," Fred said. "What kept you?"

The next ten minutes was spent listening to Jon and Hermione describe how, while they were headed back to the shop, saw Harry and Ron accosted by the proprietor of the second-hand clothing store, effectively blocking their path. "Well obviously, we couldn't just walk past looking like an extra pair of Fred and Georges," Hermione said matter-of-factly. They had ducked into a nearby building, which turned out to be Magical Menagerie, where Hermione had got Crookshanks several years before, hiding their faces so the owner couldn't tell who they were, then running out the back.

"But there isn't anything out back of the shops on this side of Diagon Alley," George pointed out.

"Yeah, we know that now," Jon said, plaintively.

Where that door led, they couldn't tell. It had been pitch black; even the light cast by both their wands had illuminated only each other. "To make it worse," Jon continued. "The door had gone shut behind us, so we couldn't see where it was to get back into the shop again."

"Wicked!" Fred and George both said, looking at each other, their eyes gleaming.

"It was a nightmare," Hermione said, shuddering. "Wherever it was, was icy cold, colder even than Diagon Alley. We walked around and around for ten minutes before we bumped into a wall and found the door again."

"Which was locked," Jon said dryly.

"But it opened for _Alohomora_," Hermione continued, "And we got back inside and Jon suggested we Apparate here and so we did," she finished breathlessly.

"Thank goodness you're safe, though!" Ron said, hugging her.

Jon sat down in a chair, rubbing his face, trying to release some of the stress he was feeling. He looked up at Harry and said quietly, "Did Ron get the drawings he wanted?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. He said you gave him a spell to help him out with that."

"Right, an old version of the Wizard's Pantograph spell. It lets you quickly draw any scene or object; it's a handy little spell."

"That's a pretty interesting door," Harry commented. "Not something you'd expect to find in a pet shop."

"I know it," Jon agreed emphatically. "For a second I didn't know what the hell to do. She held up pretty well," he added, nodding toward Hermione. "Too bad you couldn't see what went on at Gringotts."

"Actually," George said smugly, "Fred and I did come up with a rather ingenious solution for keeping tabs on the goings-on there without having to be gone from the shop."

"And what's that?" Harry asked.

Rather than reply, George canceled the Imperturbable Charm on the door and walked back to the workroom, returning a few moments later holding what looked like a short, fat brass telescope. Shutting the door, he replaced the Imperturbable Charm on it and placed the telescope on the desk in front of them.

"You may recognize this," Fred said, "From the Quidditch World Cup we attended a few years ago."

"It looks like half an Omnioculars," Ron said, looking at the twins suspiciously. "Why'd you take it apart?"

"We've been running a few tests on it," Fred said, "based on our examination of Ministry Wizard's Eyes, to see if we could get most of the functionality into a smaller format. Something like this would be ideal." Fred picked up a small pair of normal binoculars from a cabinet behind the desk.

"One of the things we've been doing is using it to record the Vault Tournament rounds," George said. "Mostly for historical purposes, of course, but we also wanted a record of how the vault mechanism operated. That's how we worked out the dial and tile motion combinations."

"So _that's_ how you did that!" Ron exclaimed. "I wondered how you figured everything out just from the Prophet article – it didn't seem like there was enough information to do it."

"There wasn't," Hermione confirmed. "I'd been wondering that, too."

"Smart girl," Fred said, grinning. "Anyway, we've already got one in place to record the comings and goings at Gringotts – we just need to adjust the angle a hair and – _voilà_! Our first foray into visual surveillance will be off and running."

Harry had the twins describe everything their Omniocular-based surveillance could show them – close-ups, slow-motion, freeze-frame – in short, everything the regular Omnioculars could do. They had even added spells to it, making it possible to store images only when there was something moving within the viewing perspective. Fred estimated it would store images for up to a week before they would have to take it down and put up a new one. Harry immediately volunteered his pair of Omnioculars, still being stored in his trunk.

"Donations cheerfully accepted," George said.

It was nearly half-past three by now, and they would have to leave soon if they wanted to get back to the school by six p.m.

"We'll walk you to the entrance," Fred decided. "George and I can have a look at the Omniocs we've got up right now and maybe give it a nudge or two, to put it right for checking the Gringotts entrance."

Harry tried to demur, but the twins were insistent. "If anyone reported anything," he pointed out, "Even if old man Shunpike just got his dander up with Mike, they'll be checking for anything dodgy at the entrance. You'll need George and me to be your Beaters, for old time's sake."

Put that way, Harry decided, they could hardly refuse. Hermione, Ron, Jon and Harry got themselves situated under the Invisibility Cloak, then they, Fred and George began a nonchalant, but brisk, walk toward the exit and the Leaky Cauldron, almost the length of Diagon Alley.

The twins were clearly a popular pair, Harry saw, as they made their way down Diagon Alley walking closely behind them. "Afternoon, Madam Bestianna," Fred nodded to the proprietress of Magical Menagerie as they passed by. "New spectacles, I see?" Both of them waved to other shopkeepers as they strolled by; once or twice George stopped to shake hands with a witch or wizard they met in the street. Harry began to see that his and Ron's impersonations hadn't begun to do them justice.

As they passed by Gringotts, Fred looked carefully along the roof of one of the buildings standing across the street from the white marble walls of the bank. "Yep, still there," he said softly.

"Where?" Harry whispered from under the Cloak. "I don't see anything…"

"Well, you wouldn't expect to, would you?" George said quietly. "We've got a Disillusionment Charm on it. No point in having secret surveillance devices if everyone knows about them." Which, of course, Harry had to admit, made sense.

As they approached the entrance to Diagon Alley, Fred turned to look at George, but spoke to Harry and the others. "Looks like we've got a going-away party up ahead," he murmured.

Harry, looking ahead, saw two men, one of them the stern-faced wizard who'd talked to him and Ron at the Vault Tournament earlier that day. They were positioned in front of the exit such that it would be impossible for the four of them, under the Invisibility Cloak, to slip past them without being noticed.

"George and I will try to distract them," Fred continued, speaking so quietly only they and George could hear him. "When you get your chance, slip past them and into the Leaky Cauldron. We'll follow if we can."

"Got it," Harry replied quietly. To Hermione, Ron and Jon he said, "Be ready to run for the exit." They nodded silently.

"Afternoon, gentlemen," Fred said cheerfully as he and George reached the pair, who stared back at them silently for some moments. "Care to tip a glass with us?"

Both men stepped forward slightly, as if making sure they were within arm's-reach of the twins in case they suddenly drew their wands. Harry edged back a bit, making sure they couldn't suddenly reach past Fred and George and make a grab for them. Both men appeared to have a normal-looking pair of eyes, but they couldn't afford to take the chance.

The stern-faced wizard smiled humorlessly as he looked Fred up and down. "You know we're on duty, Fred. If that's who you are."

"If that's who we are?" George repeated, wonderingly. He and Fred exchanged extravagantly innocent looks. "D'you think we might've become Gred and Forge last night in our sleep, perhaps?"

"The question, my lads," the other wizard, a burley, black-haired man said, "is who were you an hour ago." He held up a small, gyroscopic-like device that Harry recognized: a Sneakoscope. It was spinning rapidly, emitting a high-pitched whistle, indicating that someone untrustworthy was nearby.

"This went off just as you arrived," the burly man said, putting it back into his robe. "So you can imagine we're a bit curious about your intentions, boys."

"Huh, imagine that," George said airily to Fred. "Aurors Pettijohn and Mason, not trusting us? What will the rest of Diagon Alley think?"

"They might think we deserve a medal for finally hauling you before the Wizengamot," the stern wizard said. He reached in his pocket, pulled out two small pieces of candy and offered them to Fred and George. "Have a toffee."

"Thanks," both twins said instantly, accepting them. Harry exchanged astonished glances with Ron and Hermione. Were they actually going to _eat_ those things?

But as both twins went to stuff the candies in their pocket, the two Aurors immediately drew their wands. "Ah, ah," the first Auror said. "Go on, have a taste."

The twins exchanged nervous looks, but each unwrapped their piece of candy and placed them in their mouths. "Mm, chewy," George said. "But a little too much salt. I've had better."

"Our mum makes much better toffee than this, Mike," Fred agreed, looking at the first Auror. "We can get you her recipe, if you like." As Fred spoke, Harry saw his other hand, behind his back, pointed to one side as if they should move that way. Taking the hint, Harry and the others began to move that way.

"I might take you up on that," the Auror said. "But it could be difficult to arrange once you're in Azkaban. There's enough Aging Potion in each of those to make you one hour older – so any Polyjuice Potion you've taken should be wearing off any moment now."

But a minute passed and Fred and George still stood there, smiling innocently at the Aurors. Underneath the Invisibility Cloak Ron covered his mouth to keep from chuckling. Harry, Hermione and Jon all smiled at the Aurors' mistake.

"Well, that's an hour I'll never get back," Fred quipped.

Both of the Aurors scowled. "Right, then," the burly one said, taking a golden wand out of his robe.

"Well, never mind then," Fred said, stepping back away from them. As if George had read his mind, he stepped back as well. "We'll just have a pint or two sometime later, when you're not so busy with work."

"No, come here, you two," Mike, the stern one, said, wiggling his finger for them to come closer. But Fred and George continued to retreat, and the two Aurors started after them. Turning, the twins bolted, and the Aurors dashed after them.

Seizing the opportunity, Harry and the others rushed toward the exit, which opened obligingly at their approach, and they passed through and into the courtyard that was behind the Leaky Cauldron. Hurrying on through without stopping, they dodged around a few customers having a conversation about the Vault Tournament – "Getting to be a rather dull affair, I'd say, when the high point was a child's temper tantrum," Harry heard one complain to the other – then they were around them and out the door.

"Keep together!" Harry said urgently, trying to keep them all covered by the Cloak; it seemed like something had caught the edge of the Cloak as a woman they were passing suddenly shrieked and jumped to the side, holding her mouth and staring where they had just been. Looking back at her, Harry saw the two wizards run out of the Leaky Cauldron, looking up and down Charing Cross Road for some sign of whoever had opened the passageway to the Leaky Cauldron. They split up, the burly one going the opposite way while the one named Mike came up the road in the same direction as them.

At first Harry was afraid the Auror had detected them, but he realized that, if he had, both Aurors would have come after him. As they approached a side street Harry whispered, "This way!"

"This isn't the way we came, Harry," Hermione protested.

"We've got to give that Auror the slip!" Harry replied.

"We can still get to the parking lot this way," Jon said, pointing to another side street that headed off in the right direction.

Behind them, at the corner, the Auror halted, uncertain which way to go. He might not even be sure he _was_ following anyone, Harry knew. As they watched, he dashed off the other way and out of sight. Ron breathed a sigh of relief, and Hermione visibly relaxed.

"We should get to the car quickly," Jon said, however. "If they think we're around somewhere they'll start watching the parking lots."

Harry agreed. Ron looked Jon quizzically and asked, "Why d'you call it a parking _lot_? Is it like saying 'Hey, you lot' to a group of cars?"

"What?" Jon said, confused.

"Oh, never _mind_, Ron," Hermione said, exasperated. "We'll explain later."

They made their way toward the car park and the small red hatchback that Jon's Corvette was disguised as. But just as Jon was about to open the passenger door, Harry hissed, "Hold it!"

The Auror who'd been following them appeared at the corner nearby, followed by two other Aurors. "Check these!" they all heard him shout to the other two Aurors, then run on out of sight up the street. The two Aurors ran into the car park and slowed to a brisk walk, looking from side to side at the cars sitting there. They were apparently looking for a car matching the description of Jon's Corvette, because they walked right past them and the Citroën, continuing on to the other end of the car park.

As Harry and the others watched nervously, the two Aurors conferred briefly, then walked over to the shed where the attended stood, watching them suspiciously, evidently unused to seeing fully gown men running around with long flowing robes and pointed hats on.

"What do we do?" Hermione asked, sounding very nervous.

"Nothing," Harry whispered. "They're just fishing now."

"The attendant won't remember anything," Jon added. "He never saw my car or the four of us together."

But one Auror had pulled out a handful of photographs and was showing them to the attendant – who was apparently started by what he saw. Harry grinned in spite of himself; he imagined they'd forgotten Muggles weren't used to seeing photographs that moved.

"I think we'd better get going," Jon said, watching the Muggle attendant looking intently at the pictures he was seeing. "If he remembers me he might remember this car."

Jon opened the car door as quietly as he could and slid out from under the Invisibility Cloak and into the car. Ron, then Hermione followed suit. As Harry glanced over the top of the car he saw the attendant point their way. Harry quickly ducked into the car, slamming the door shut. "Hey!" they heard one of the Aurors shout. "There's somebody in that car!"

"Hang on, everyone!" Jon said, and jerked back hard on the pitch lever. The Citroën leapt straight up into the air. They heard a loud shout as they ascended; the attendant was apparently unused to seeing cars jump into the air from his car park, especially Citroëns.

Jon punched the invisibility button and their view through the windscreen blurred momentarily as it took effect. Switching off levitation mode, Jon hit the petrol feed and the car surged forward. "Well, that's probably done it," he said plaintively, steering northward for the return to Hogwarts. "They're bound to believe there's a flying car out there somewhere now, if two Aurors have seen it."

"I wonder what their expressions were when they saw it take off?" Ron said with a grin.

"Probably something like, 'We'd better get a message to our men at Hogwarts,'" Jon said with a frown. "I think this is probably the last trip we're making to Diagon Alley in this car."

Ron looked unhappy. "Well, at least I've got enough drawings of the Vault," he said, patting the journal and parchments he was still clutching.

Jon reached up and pushed the button that set the car on autopilot. "So what's the idea with the drawings anyway?" he asked Ron. "I never did understand what you wanted them for."

"Well, I –"

"It's a big secret," Hermione said, sounding peeved. Ron had evidently not even let her in on what his plans were.

"It's not a secret!" Ron said loudly, looking frustrated by her annoyance. "I just want to do this on my own is all!"

"So how will telling us what you're going to do force us to help you?" Jon asked reasonably. Ron snorted but said nothing for several seconds.

Finally he sighed. "Alright, it's no big deal," he said in an annoyed tone. "When we were home for Christmas I was looking at the grandfather clock in our kitchen. Mum usually keeps it with her all the time anymore, but it was just sitting there one morning, and I noticed that some of the designs along the edges are similar to ones I've seen on the Mystery Vault."

"Similar how?" Harry asked.

"You know," Ron said, making vague patterns in the air in front of him. "Curls and whorls and things like that. It's hard to explain," he finished, sounding frustrated and embarrassed.

"So what are you going to do, then?" Jon asked. "Compare the designs from your parents' grandfather clock to the designs on the Mystery Vault? What do you do if you find similarities?"

"Well –" Ron sounded reluctant to respond. But he suddenly blurted out, "I think my great-uncle Archie might have built the Mystery Vault."

There was several moments of shocked silence. Everyone was staring at Ron, who looked back at Harry as if daring him to laugh or say something silly.

Jon finally broke the silence. "Interesting theory," he said, and Ron looked at him, his mouth agape. "Any other evidence that your great-uncle might have done that, other than the similarity in design?"

"Not directly," Ron admitted. "I've been reading his journal. He wrote about his two older brothers, how they didn't care for his mum like he and Grandad did. And he talks about Dad, about giving him various toys and things he built. He wrote Dad really liked toys that Muggle kids played with, so he'd get things like that and put spells on them."

"That's very interesting, Ron," Hermione said kindly, looking at him with a gentle smile. "I'm glad you're trying to find out more about your great-uncle."

"But don't you think I'm mental, to believe Great-uncle Archie build the Mystery Vault?" Ron pressed her.

"No," she said softly, shaking her head.

"So you think he might've?" Ron continued eagerly.

"I don't know," she said with a small shrug. "You'll have to keep trying to find out."

They raced across Northern England, finally passing into Scotland. Harry wondered how they would get back into the school, but Jon seemed confident they could. "I put a stop on the skylight," he told them. "I just used a Sticking Charm to place a block of wood along the edge of the skylight, to keep it from closing completely."

"What d'you think would happen if it closed completely?" Harry asked.

"The skylight would probably disappear," Hermione interjected. "And there wouldn't be any way to open it again. At least, not without getting back into the Room of Requirement."

"Right," Jon agreed. "At least, no way I can think of. Plus, I _think_ that, as long as I keep that skylight open, nobody else can get into the Room of Requirement. Unless, of course, they _need_ to."

It was only a few minutes until six p.m. when they flew over the lake to the south of the school. Jon switched the car into levitate mode and coasted forward, a hundred feet in the air above the ground. He spun the wheel, causing the car to spin around until it was traveling backwards, then fired the air nozzles until they had come to nearly a complete halt above the roof.

"Now," Harry said, looking around; they couldn't see anything below them unless he leaned way out of the window. "How do we get back inside?"

"Only one way I can think of," Jon said, reaching forward to press another button on the dashboard. The top of the Corvette began to retract until it was completely folded up behind them. Looking back, Harry saw that there was apparently no back seating – at least none that he could tell; the roof looked to be only a foot or so away.

"Everybody fasten you seat belts," Jon instructed, and Harry, Ron and Hermione each found one to fasten across themselves. "Make sure they're snug," Jon added. "Everyone ready?" When everyone nodded, he pulled back on a lever on the left side of the steering wheel then spun the wheel a half-turn.

The Corvette spun sideways until it was upside down. Hermione let out a shriek and Ron shouted "Whoa!" Harry, looking toward the roof, saw the skylight a few twenty or thirty feet below them.

"Now," Jon said, concentrating. "We can see where we're heading. He moved the pitch control slowly while adjusting their position with a small lever next to the pitch lever, until the car was centered in the skylight. Dropping through, they floated down until they were a few feet above the floor. Jon then turned the steering wheel back the other way and the Corvette righted itself and floated the final few feet to the ground. Taking out his wand, Jon waved it at the skylight, catching the block of wood that fell as he did so. He punched a button on the dash and the skylight began closing.

They piled out of the car and Harry turned to look at it once more. With the top down, looking in from the outside, it looked like a normal vehicle; one couldn't' tell that there was room for four or more people in the front seat, and enough seating for behind it for twice that number, if needed.

"It's a shame we won't be able to use this again," Harry said to Jon. "Assuming we don't get caught for _this_ time."

"We won't," Jon said, walking over to a nearby cabinet and pulling out a Chocolate Frog box. He opened the box, took out the Chocolate Frog, then turned to the others. "Let's go," he said, indicating the door.

"What's the Chocolate Frog for?" Ron said as they walked into the corridor outside the Room of Requirement. Harry looked around; fortunately, it was deserted – he hadn't thought to check the Marauder's Map before they exited.

"Our way back outside," Jon said, holding up the box. "Everyone put a finger on the Frog," he said. "One, two –"

There was a motion just behind Jon, seemingly out of nowhere, and a dark form appeared, stretching a pale hand toward them. "—three!" Jon finished, and they were pulled forward with a whoosh and swirl of colors, to land a moment later in the grass near the broom shed beside the Quidditch pitch.

"Here you go, Ron," Jon said, handing him the Chocolate Frog box. "We've got about a minute left!" he announced, jogging toward the front steps of the school. Harry and Hermione were right behind him, with Ron bringing up the rear as he opened the Chocolate Frog box and popped it into his mouth.

Filch was standing at the front doors, apparently ready to lock them once the bells rang for six p.m., but Jon pushed the doors open and they rushed inside, breathless. "Sign in," Filch said sourly, and each of them quickly signed the book as the bells pealed out the last of its six rings. Harry glanced up at the Naming Scroll; all of their names, he could see, were in gleaming black ink.

The four of them turned toward the main staircase, but were brought up short by the figure of Professor Snape standing in front of it, staring at them coldly. Harry saw something nestled in the crook of Snape's arm – something that looked very much like his own Invisibility Cloak, tucked away safely within his own robe.

Harry knew suddenly what it was they had seen just before the Portkey took them: it had been Snape, trying to catch them as they emerged from the Room of Requirement! If Jon hadn't had the Portkey ready to use so quickly, he might have stopped them.

"Have a nice liberty?" Snape asked, his tone caustic. "I hope you enjoyed yourselves – it will be the last chance you'll have to be out of this school before classes end this summer. Liberty is hereby revoked for all students, effective _immediately_."

Behind them, Filch was chuckling derisively. "Why is that, sir," Harry forced himself to ask the question politely despite his burning anger – it would be just like Snape to use any excuse, valid or not, to blame them for the end of liberty.

"There have been reports," Snape said smoothly, "of a flying car sighted in London this afternoon. For the safety of all students, I have decided to order the temporary cessation of liberty for seventh-year students, until further notice." You are dismissed," he said, waving them off, and they escaped into the Great Hall for dinner.

"Wonder why he did that?" Hermione mused later as they were eating, after Harry told them what he'd seen just before they were taken by the Portkey. "He had us dead to rights – he could have put us all in detention or reported us to McGonagall."

"He must have something else up his sleeve," Harry said darkly.

"One thing's certain," Jon said with a smile. "He can't produce the Portkey we used, not when it's in Ron's stomach."

"I wouldn't put it past Snape to go in after it," Harry said, and Ron, looking revolted by the idea, put his hand over his stomach.

The next morning, true to his word, students found a notice posted where the sign-in book had been, stating:

_To Hogwarts seventh years and other students,_

_Effective immediately, seventh-year liberty has been revoked, due to alleged illegal activity – specifically, the sighting of an illegal flying vehicle in London by Ministry personnel. Such activity represents a danger to students._

_Students are encouraged to report the whereabouts of any Muggle artifacts illegally enchanted, including vehicles, to school staff. _

_Seventh-year liberty will resume when Ministry personnel determines that any and all illegal activity has ceased. _

_Professor Severus Snape_

_Deputy Headmaster_

"Who's he trying to fool?" Dean Thomas said angrily, upon reading the notice. "He just wanted an excuse to top seventh-year liberty!"

"I wonder why Professor McGonagall's going along with it," Patil Parvati, who was standing near Harry and Ron as they read the notice, was saying.

"The deputy headmaster is supposed to enforce discipline for the school," Hermione said, reading the notice as well. "If she overrode this, at least directly, Snape could claim she's not looking out for students' welfare. Plus, I hate to say this –" she looked at Harry apologetically "– she was never really happy with seventh-year liberty in the first place."

"And that pretty much means that Snape's won," Harry said bleakly.

"For now," Hermione admitted. "But the Hogwarts governors instituted liberty for seventh years; they might overturn Snape."

Things got worse, however, after the morning edition of the Daily Prophet arrived. Splashed across the front page was the headline:

* * *

**Flying Car Sighted by Muggle in London**

A London Muggle, Ambrose Pierce, of Westminster, was processed and released by Ministry Aurors after reporting seeing a car flying from the car park where he is employed as a day attendant yesterday afternoon, according to Ministry sources.

Ministry Aurors, tipped off that an illegally enchanted Muggle automobile might be operating in the London area, possibly by students currently attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, were searching the area near the Leaky Cauldron, an establishment that serves as entry point to Diagon Alley, when they were approached by Mr. Pierce after witnessing a 1997 Citroën AX parked in the car part he is employed at fly into the air. An Obliviator, who preferred not to be identified, told the _Prophet_, "He was quite shaken, of course … nasty business, this removing people's memories when they accidentally see things like this – but it would undoubtedly be worse if we let them remember!"

Nor is this the first time a flying car has been spotted by Muggles in London. Five years ago on September first, a Ford Anglia owned by Mr. Arthur Weasley, now Head of the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects, was spotted in the skies by no less than six Muggles. The car, driven to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry by students Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley, damaged school property, but was never recovered. Mr. Weasley was given a fine by the Ministry of Magic for his part in the affair.

* * *

"Well, it goes on with rubbish like that," Hermione said, closing the paper and shaking her head disgustedly. "I can't believe how blatantly biased this article is!"

"Maybe Rita Skeeter wrote it," Ron said in a very annoyed tone; it was clear he hadn't appreciated the uncomplimentary references to his father any more than he cared for what was written about him and Harry.

"I doubt it," Hermione said. "Her name wasn't on it and that woman never misses an opportunity to promote herself. Although," she continued, shaking the paper angrily, "whoever wrote this clearly took the opportunity to smear your father, Ron, as well as you and Harry."

Already the rumors had begun to spread, Harry could tell. Students at the other House tables were nodding in his and Ron's direction, and Harry had seen several hard looks from seventh years – apparently there were rumors flying about that they'd been responsible for the loss of seventh-year liberty.

Harry was about to give his own thoughts on the article when a younger student from Ravenclaw approached the table with a folded piece of parchment in her hand. "Are you Harry Potter?" she asked, wide-eyed, and handed him the parchment when he nodded wordlessly. Harry opened the parchment as the girl scampered away.

"It's from Tonks," he said, looking up toward the High Table, where the young Transfiguration teacher sat. "She wants a quick word."

"Oh – maybe she has news from Professor Lupin," Hermione suggested.

"Or maybe something on Snape," Ron guessed.

Harry left Hermione and Ron and approached the High Table. Tonks watched as he walked toward her; she nodded as he stopped in front of the table directly across from her.

"Come around here, please, Harry," she told him. Harry complied, looking questioningly at her as he seated himself beside her.

"Yes, Professor Tonks?" Harry asked politely.

"You know," she said, smiling, "I'm still not quite used to being called 'Professor,' Harry. But I suppose we can't have you calling me just 'Tonks,' either, can we?"

"The other teachers usually don't encourage that," Harry said matter-of-factly.

"Of course not," Tonks said; she shrugged indifferently. "That's not what I asked you up here for, however. Have you seen the morning's _Prophet_ yet?"

"Yes," Harry said, nodding toward Ron and Hermione. "We were just discussing it. It was clearly written to make it appear as Ron and I were somehow involved in the incident with the car in London yesterday."

"You have to be careful," Tonks said in a low voice, "how you approach things now, especially where the Ministry of Magic is concerned. Scrimgeour has abandoned trying to get your support for the Ministry –"

"Good," Harry said curtly.

"– but he's not going to give you carte blanche either," Tonks pointed out. "They've adopted a 'wait and see' attitude now that You-Know-Who is gone –"

"But he's _not_ gone," Harry put in, pointedly.

"Right, we don't' disagree on that," Tonks agreed. "But Scrimgeour and the Ministry are too afraid to consider the possibility that he wasn't killed and that they've just been fooling themselves for the past eight months."

Harry nodded, frustrated by that fact. The downside to keeping information about Horcruxes suppressed was that if no one knew what they were up against, adequate safeguards couldn't' be taken. Harry wondered, momentarily, what would happen if he told Scrimgeour about the Horcruxes. He abandonded the idea almost immediately – the Ministry would likely clap _him_ into Azkaban for having such knowledge as do anything useful with it.

"Thanks, Professor," Harry said, grateful for the chance to talk to her again, even if only for a few minutes. "There is something I want to ask."

"What is it?"

"Is there a reason why the Ministry seems to be concentrating on me, instead of, say, Neville?" Harry asked. "After all, he's the one who's supposed to have killed Voldemort."

Tonks looked confused. "Why do you say the Ministry's concentrating on you, Harry?"

"In Hogsmeade this past Valentine's Day, I must have saw four or five Aurors watching me and Ginny as we walked to Madame Puddifoot's for tea," Harry told her.

"Really?" Tonks looked concerned. "That can't be right, Harry. There are only two Aurors stationed in Hogsmeade, and have been since the start of the school year."

"I'm certain I saw at least four watching me," Harry said.

"Were they separate or in pairs?" Tonks asked anxiously.

"Separately."

"That isn't good Harry," she told him, now looking very tense. "One of the policies Scrimgeour put in place last summer was that all Aurors doing field work operate in pairs. It's possible that you saw the same two Aurors twice each, in different locations, but there's a chance that someone else was observing you as well."

Harry understood what she was implying. "You mean, like – Death Eaters?"

"Yes," she nodded grimly. "If that's true, there may be a plot against you."

In spite of the severity of the situation, Harry smiled. "Right," he said evenly. "When _hasn't_ there been one against me?"

A smile flickered across Tonks's face but quickly disappeared. "Be that as it may, it's probably best if you didn't leave the school any more, even to go to Hogsmeade."

"No problem there," Harry said, now bitter with the thought of what Snape was doing. "With Professor Snape taking away liberty because of that car incident –"

"Well, I'm almost on his side on this one," Tonks told him. "Even if he is doing it for the wrong reasons. It's not a popular decision with the governors – they're almost certain to overturn it during their meeting later this month. Even if they do, Harry, and you leave the school again, be careful. Will you do that for me?" Tonks smiled at him.

"I'll be careful, Professor," Harry promised, returning her smile. He really did miss talking to Tonks; they'd hardly had a word together outside class since the Christmas holidays.

"I'll see you later in class, Harry," she told him, unable to resist wagging a finger at him as well. "Don't forget that homework – it's very important for your Transfiguration N.E.W.T.s!"

"Yes, _Professor_," Harry replied airily, emphasizing her title, and Tonks chuckled as he got up, grinning, and walked back to where Hermione and Ron were sitting.

"What did she want?" Ron asked.

"I'll tell you on the way up," Harry said, remaining standing to suggest that they head back to the common room. Hermione stood as well, but Ron stayed seated.

"Is – is that all we were having for breakfast this morning?" he asked, sounding expectant.

"What else?" Harry said with a shrug.

"Aren't you full yet, Ron?" Hermione said, her head cocked to one side.

"Well – I guess so," Ron said, sighing and rising to his feet. He followed Harry and Hermione into the entrance hall where a group of seventh-years including Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle, were milling about, reading the notice. When they saw Harry and Ron there was some grumbling, but nobody tried to stop them.

However, when they were halfway up the main entrance's staircase, Malfoy said loudly, "I wonder who's been flying illegal vehicles around London, this time?" There was laughter from some of the other seventh-years, grumbles from others.

"Ignore it," Hermione said, almost automatically, and they continued up the stairs.

"Thanks a _lot_, Potter!" Malfoy taunted him one last time as they were almost out of sight, but Harry ignored him as the students laughed and grumbled again.

"What a slimy git," Ron said as they continued toward Gryffindor Tower.

"At least he's predictable," Harry said. "If he didn't spread rumors about me around, I'd think I'd lost my touch or something."

Hermione and Ron both chuckled. "Right!" Ron agreed.

By the time they'd reached Gryffindor Tower, however, Ron had fallen silent again and was looking rather distant as they approached the Fat Lady. "Salamander," Harry said, giving the latest password, and the portrait swung open to admit them. Hermione climbed through first. "Go ahead," Harry said to Ron, who shrugged indifferently at the courtesy and walked through the portal into the common room.

"_Surprise_!" came a chorus of voices as Ron stepped into the room, and he looked up, his mouth agape, at the room decorated in colored streamers and floating candles. A crowd of Gryffindors stood around a table; in the middle of it was a large chocolate cake, decorated in red and yellow, with the words "Happy 18th Birthday, Ronald Weasley" and 18 candles arranged across the top.

"Happy Birthday, Ron!" Ginny said, hugging him and stepping back, grinning, to see the look of absolute surprise on his face. "Weren't expecting this, were you?"

"No," Ron said, his voice almost gone in shock. "And here I was, hoping for a piece of cake after breakfast!"

"Happy Birthday, Ron," Hermione said, hugging him as well. "I knew you were wondering down in the Great Hall where your cake was." Ron laughed.

Taking out her wand, Hermione flicked it at the cake; a knife lying on the table next to it floated into the air and began cutting it into slices, which then floated onto plates, which in turn began arranging themselves into rows for everyone to take.

Ginny was the first to give Ron his present, a soft, bulky package; he quickly unwrapped it to reveal a hooded sweatshirt, orange with a pair of black C's and a cannonball on it. Instead of saying "Chudley Cannons," however, it said "Chuds 'n' the Hood." "Excellent!" Ron said, beaming. "Thanks, sis!"

Dean was next with a large box of Chocolate Frogs, which Ron reacted enthusiastically to, but set aside to sample another time. Ritchie Coote and Jimmy Peakes, the Gryffindor Beaters, had gone in together and bought him a small Quidditch trophy cup with the inscription "World's Best Quidditch Player – He's a Keeper!" Demelza and the other team members cheered as Ron held it up. Demelza and Natalie had also gone in together on their present, a broomstick sock, or cover, hand-made from medium-grade wool from Edinburgh.

Jon, who'd arrived in the common room a few minutes after the celebration started, gave Ron an enchanted mug that kept whatever liquid one put into it at the same temperature no matter how long it sat. Ron, who'd never cared for lukewarm tea or pumpkin juice, thanked him heartily for the gift.

"Let's start eating this cake," Hermione said, and soon everyone was happily devouring the rich, moist chocolate.

"This is so good!" Ron exclaimed as he took his first bite. "How'd you ever come up with this?"

"Dobby made it," Harry said between bites of his own piece of cake. Ron was right; it was about the finest chocolate cake he'd ever had. "Said he slaved over a stove almost the entire night to come up with just the right recipe."

"'Slaved?'" Hermione said, looking at him quickly; her eyebrow had risen, but there was a lightness in her voice that took the edge off her comment. "I hope you paid him a fair price, Harry."

"Well, he ran a pretty hard bargain," Harry said plaintively. "Asked for four pairs of socks, each a different color."

"_Four_?" said Ron with a look of mock surprise on his face. "He's rich!"

"Very funny, Harry," Hermione said.

"No, that's really what he wanted, Hermione," Harry insisted. "But he did say," Harry added with a smirk, "he'd gladly trade all those socks for another one of your knitted hats."

"Oh, stop it," Hermione said, sounding severe, but she was unable to suppress a giggle.

Soon the cake was gone and everyone in the common room drifted into other activities until only Harry, Hermione, Ron, Ginny and Jon were left standing around the crumb-strewn table and chairs. "I suppose it's time for my present," Harry said, picking up a present from behind a large chair and setting it on the table. "Happy Birthday, Ron."

Ron tore open the wrapping to reveal a finely-detail, one-twentieth scale model of the Mystery Vault. "Whoa," Ron gasped, examining every square inch of the surface. "Wow, Harry! Where did you ever come up with something like this?!"

"Fred and George made it for me," Harry said. He pointed at the tiles on the front. "They've been using the Omnioculars to record all the turns and moves of the dial on the front of the Vault, and what the tiles did for each motion. As far as they can tell, this model will act just like the real one when you turn the dial, except for actually opening, that is. And you can open that," he said, pointing to a small switch under the front edge of the door. "by flipping this switch to the left; the dial then acts like a combination lock. I'll give you the combination later."

"Thanks, Harry, really," Ron said sincerely. "I'm glad you appreciate what I'm trying to do, wanting to figure this out on my own. This will really help me out – it's much nicer than that little handheld Vault."

"And here's my present," Hermione said, handing Ron a small gift-wrapped box. Ron removed the wrapping to reveal a black, felt-covered box, which he opened to see a pair of silver charm bracelets, each with a single charm on them, a silver train engine. "If you look very close," Hermione said, pointing at the engine, "you'll see that's it's an exact copy of the Hogwarts Express, where we first met." They both smiled affectionately at each other, and Ron folded her into a long embrace. After a few seconds of watching this, Ginny poked Harry and Jon in the arm and pointed to the common room exit. They followed her out and into the corridor beyond.

They walked along in silence for a minute or so before Ginny turned to Harry, frowning. "I'm not very happy with you, you know."

"Me? What for?" Harry wanted to know.

"Because you went to Diagon Alley without me," she said crossly. She turned to Jon. "And I heard _you_ had a big adventure with Aurors and strange rooms and I didn't get to see any of it!"

"You can blame me for that," Jon said. "I didn't want too many–"

"Jon," Ginny said, "will you excuse me and Harry while we have a private conversation?"

"Okay," Jon said, and walked away.

"Are you upset about something?" Harry asked, after Jon had gone, concerned about her uncharacteristic rudeness when Jon had done nothing wrong.

"Harry, I – I don't know!" she said, turning away, covering her mouth. When Harry turned her to face him again, her eyes were bright with tears.

"Ginny, what's wrong?" he asked, looking at her intently. "Please, tell me!"

But Ginny just shook her head sharply, almost as if she were awakening from a persistent dream. "Really, Harry – I – I don't know," she said wearily. "Maybe I'm just – I don't want to say – jealous, I guess, of Hermione and Ron. Of what they have. What we can't have."

"We've talked about this –"

"_I know that_!" she said loudly, then looked around to see if anyone might have heard. "I know we've talked about it, Harry," she continued more quietly. "I _agree_ with you. At least," she said, pointing to her head. "I agree with you up here, but not –" she pointed to her heart "– here."

Harry didn't know what to say to her. He took her in his arms, and together, for at least a few minutes, they enjoyed being with each other, heart to heart, because Harry knew, deep down within himself, he felt the same way.

Later in the afternoon, after getting back together, to celebrate Ron's birthday Harry and Hermione decided to let him decide what they should do the rest of the day. Ron elected to, as he put it, "Skive off _everything_." No schoolwork, no looking through old magic books for ancient magical relics or playing with Vault models – all he wanted to do was sit around drinking butterbeer and talk, or play Exploding Snap or wizard chess or do whatever else came to mind – as long as it was fun.

And when Hermione began to look restless, as if she missed pouring over page after page of textbook and writing scrolls of essay, Ron wagged a finger at her, saying, "Remember, it's my birthday – don't ruin it for me!"

The mood was infectious; as other students heard about what the three of them were doing, they began putting away their books as well and joining in the fun. Soon the common room was filled with card games and laughing conversation. Dinner came and went – some students went down, bring back trays full of sandwiches made of roast beef, turkey or baked ham, and pitchers of cold pumpkin juice.

Ron won nearly every game of Exploding Snap that night, and beat Harry in a late game of badly-played wizard chess, with both of them making silly moves just to watch the pieces battle each other, which annoyed the chessmen to no end. "You're better than this!" one hapless knight shouted at Ron just as Harry's queen knocked him off his square.

Finally, the day drawing to a close, the common room began to thin out as students waved goodnight to one another and went up to their dormitories. "I think I'm going to sleep until noon," Hermione said, yawning, as she stood and walked over to hug Ron goodnight. "Goodnight, you," she said, giving him a quick kiss, then turned to go up the girls' staircase. "Goodnight, Harry. Sleep safe."

"Thanks," Harry said, bemused by her choice of words. _Safe_.

Safe?

"Oh," Harry said, his jaw dropping at the idea he'd just had. "Why didn't I think of that before! _Safe_!"

Hermione had stopped on her way up the staircase. "What are you talking about, Harry?"

But Harry, saying nothing, motioned for Hermione to rejoin him and Ron, then pulled them over to a quiet spot in the common room, away from everyone else.

"I think I just realized the perfect place for Voldemort to keep his Horcruxes," Harry whispered excitedly. "In Gringotts!"

Hermione and Ron both looked at each other doubtfully. "That's an interesting theory, Harry," Hermione whispered back. "But I can't see Voldemort walking into Gringotts and getting a vault to store his Horcruxes in."

"He doesn't need to!" Harry pointed out quickly. "That's why he's got Death Eaters – they can do it for him!"

"And what happens if they get killed, or captured by the Ministry?" Hermione pointed out. "If they were forced to confess, the secret of his Horcruxes would get out."

"Not if he didn't tell them what they were!" Harry pointed out. "You have to admit, it's a pretty secure place, right? When was the last time you heard of it being broken into?"

"A long time," Ron said. "Years, I reckon."

"I remember the day!" Harry said. "The only time anyone ever tried to break into Gringotts was the night of July 31st, on my eleventh birthday! _And who was it tried to break in_?"

Harry answered his own question before either of them could. "It was Professor Quirrell," he said, "who was being controlled by – Voldemort!"

"But he was trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone, Harry," Hermione pointed out. "Not a Horcrux!"

"But it shows he could get in there if he wanted to!" Harry argued.

"Yes," Hermione conceded. "It does."

"So," Ron asked, "assuming your guess is right, Harry, how would we go about proving it?"

"I've got to think about that," Harry admitted. "But it's almost certain, isn't it, that even Death Eaters will have vaults at Gringotts. There has to be a way to find out what's inside them.

"For now, though, we'd better get to bed," Hermione said, ever practical. "We're all too tired to think effectively about this tonight. Goodnight," she said again, and after a final quick hug with Ron headed up to the girls' dormitories.

Harry and Ron made their way upstairs to their own room, quickly changed and flopped into bed.

"That was about the best birthday I can remember," Ron said happily. "And now just three more months, our N.E.W.T.s are over, and we're done. Kind of hard to imagine, isn't it, Harry?"

"Yeah," Harry said, laying in bed, his arms behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling. "Hard to imagine it's almost over…"

"Do you know what you're going to do, Harry?" Ron asked. "I mean – you know – after…" he trailed off, not wanting to say aloud what Harry had to do, not with Dean, Seamus, and Neville asleep in the room with them.

"I dunno," Harry said. "I thought about being an Auror, you know." Ron nodded. "It takes five N.E.W.T.s to be considered for Auror training, so I'll have to pass every subject I sit for."

"You passed every O.W.L. with an E or better," Ron pointed out. "And an O in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Should be a doss for you."

Harry chuckled. "Yeah, right. Well tomorrow I guess I'd better get back to studying for those five N.E.W.T.s. Goodnight, Ron."

"Night, Harry."

Harry rolled onto his side, feeling sleep ready to overtake him, and it did. But seemingly only a moment later, he was awakened as something brushed past him. He was on his back, his face turned toward Ron's bed, and as he watched, a parchment airplane, which had apparently flown right over him, wafted over Ron's bed, landing on his forehead.

Ron jerked, sitting up suddenly and clutching the small object, looking at it for a moment. Harry narrowed his eyes to mere slits just as Ron looked at him. Satisfied Harry was asleep, Ron opened the airplane, reading something written on it; then, glancing around at the others in the room, slid out of bed, stepping into his slippers and shrugging on a robe over his pajamas. He walked stealthily to the door, opened it silently, and slipped out.

Harry sat up in bed. He had an idea where Ron was going, and he very much wanted to be in on whatever conversation there might be. Reaching under his pillow, he brought out his Invisibility Cloak. He pulled it over him, leaving his slippers, which might make too much noise on the stone floor, and followed Ron.

Exiting through the portrait, he headed as silently as possible to the place where he knew, somehow, he would find Ron: the corridor outside the Room of Requirement. Sure enough, when he arrived, he found Ron facing Severus Snape, who undoubtedly in Harry's mind, sent the message telling Ron to meet him here.

"You failed to meet me at the appointed time last night," Snape was saying as Harry came within hearing distance of them.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Professor," Ron replied; even though there was a quaver in his voice he sounded annoyed. "Unless you mean the hypnotic suggestions you've had me under for the past several months."

Harry was close enough now to see Snape's face, illuminated by his lighted wand, now frozen in cold fury at being caught out. "So – Potter figured it out, did he? A shame, really. I was half-hoping he'd accuse me of using the Imperius Curse on you, destroying any credibility he might still have with the Ministry once they determined that accusation was baseless."

"The Ministry wouldn't like you using Muggle psychological tricks on students either, I reckon," Ron said, pointedly.

"They don't like students driving illegal Muggle artifacts about London, or sneaking into Azkaban to question their prisoners, either," Snape replied smoothly. "Oh, don't bother denying it, Weasley!" he snapped, when Ron opened his mouth to protest. "You know perfectly well what was going on; only the lack of key physical evidence prevents the Ministry from charging you and all your silly little friends with complicity in the whole sordid affair! Isn't that right, Potter?"

Harry froze. Snape, looking past Ron, stared directly at Harry through his Invisibility Cloak. "Haven't you figured out by now that I've acquired the ability to see through Invisibility Cloaks? Pity. Perhaps I shouldn't have let that out just now. It might have come in handy at some particularly critical time for you."

Ron was looking around behind him, guessing by following Snape's gaze where Harry must be. Ron's face was in shadow; he was facing away from Snape's wand, the only source of light at this part of the corridor. Snape went on, almost conversationally. "We are at something of an impasse now, are we not? I am unable, for some reason, to gain entry to the Room of Requirement, while you, on the other hand, are unable to leave Hogwarts without risking detection by Ministry Aurors, who will question you, if caught, about Crown's illegal vehicle. Likewise, if Crown or any of your friends are found outside Hogwarts while seventh-year liberty is revoked, they will be arrested and questioned as well."

Snape smiled humorlessly. "Perhaps you should concentrate on your N.E.W.T.s. As I recall reading in your fifth year career counseling session, you contemplated being an Auror. Considering your proclivity for breaking rules, that may not be the best career choice you could make." Extinguishing his wand, Snape spun on his heel and strode away down the corridor in the opposite direction.

"Harry?" Ron said, looking around nervously. "Are you really here or was Snape just trying to trick me?" Harry pulled off his Invisibility Cloak and, raising his own wand, murmured "_Lumos_," lighting it.

"So you _were_ here!" Ron hurried over to him. "Sorry, I should have asked you along, Harry, but when I got that note I was just so mad at Snape I wanted to come and give him a piece of my mind." He looked down, ashamed. "But I couldn't bring myself to do it."

"It doesn't matter," Harry said, and they started back toward the Gryffindor common room. "You came and stood up to him, and he doesn't like that. Plus, he knows now that he can't use you against us any more. I'd say you did pretty well against him."

Ron smiled, encouraged. "Thanks, Harry."

"Now we'd better get back to bed," Harry said. "Before some other teacher comes along and catches us out past curfew." They made their way back through the Fat Lady's portrait, into the common room, and up to their beds.


	30. The Gringotts Job

Chapter 30

**THE GRINGOTTS JOB**

Over the next few weeks, it seemed to Harry that he and Snape had reached an impasse, if not an accord – the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher no longer harassed or threatened him or other Gryffindors in his class – at least no more than usual – but at he same time, liberty for all the seventh-years had effectively been cancelled.

It might not have made much difference anyway, however: N.E.W.T. homework was quickly becoming onerous. While the tests themselves were still months away, every teacher in every seventh-year class was pressing more and more homework upon them. The common room was now full every night until the small hours of the morning with seventh-year students (and fifth-years as well, studying for O.W.L.s) burning the midnight oil. The sixth-years, with relatively much less homework, would finish off their assignments; then, yawning hugely, they would bid their mates goodnight and run off, laughing and dodging jinxes.

With each of them taking five N.E.W.T. classes, Harry and Ron wondered how Hermione could even function under the seven subjects she was taking. "It's not really that hard when you're used to studying," she pointed out, almost amused by their disbelief that she could actually pass seven N.E.W.T.s when Harry and Ron both felt they would be lucky to pass five. "If you would just look at schoolwork as being good for you rather than something you have to _work at_, you would find it a lot more enjoyable."

"Right," said Ron, with heavy irony. Hermione shook her head at him, disappointed but saying nothing more. Harry saw her point, however. The Defense Against the Dark Arts classes he'd given to the D.A. in his fifth year had been some of the most enjoyable "work" he'd ever done at Hogwarts.

Harry also had another school activity beyond N.E.W.T.s to consider. Gryffindor's next Quidditch match, against Ravenclaw, was on the third Saturday of March, and he had to weave practice sessions around their school work, although only he and Ron were in seventh year, and Demelza in her fifth. They finally managed a few late afternoon practices, and Harry was pleased to see the younger team members eager to return to the pitch, but again he felt less than enthusiastic about the game. He even briefly considered taking himself out of the lineup, making Ginny Seeker and putting Dean or Seamus in as Chaser, but almost immediately abandoned the idea as sending a seriously wrong message, both to his own team members and to everyone else at school as well. He would play out their last two games.

The day of the match arrived, a blustery, overcast day, and both teams took to the field with high enthusiasm. Ravenclaw, having lost its first match to Slytherin by a wide margin in November, was spoiling for a win. The Gryffindors, likewise, felt confident riding the blazing fast Crown jewels. The first few minutes of the match are dominated by Gryffindor, which flew into an early lead with several unanswered goals from Ginny, Demelza and Natalie. Harry, circling above the pitch, searches for the Golden Snitch and half-listens to Neville, who had returned without Luna to provide commentary for the match. Even without Luna's unique perspective on the game, Neville was doing quite well on his own. It probably didn't hurt, either, that Gryffindor was doing quite well, outscoring Ravenclaw two to one in goals; the score was soon 150 to 70.

However, the match came to an abrupt halt as Harry, suddenly sighting the Snitch near the center of the pitch, streaked after it, only to have it fly directly at the Ravenclaw Seeker who, although greatly surprised, reached out and deftly caught it out of the air, ending the match.

"That was an unlucky break for Gryffindor," Neville said, uable to hide the disappointment in his own voice. "Ravenclaw has the win, 220 to 150."

In the changing room, after the match, Harry's team mates were sympathetic about the loss. "It was a tough break, Harry," Ginny told him, looking disappointed herself. "But you never know which way the Snitch'll fly."

"We were doing great up 'til then, though," Demelza said, shrugging. "It we'd played much longer we might've won even if they _had_ caught the Snitch, like we did against Hufflepuff!"

Harry, for his part, said nothing and merely nodded miserably, as if he were upset about the loss; in truth, however, he was glad the match was over and that they had only one left, against Slytherin in May. The next game, in April, matched Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, which would of course be important for the overall standings but was unlikely to be very interesting, to Harry's mind.

The following weekend was Round 11 of the Vault Tournament, although the nearest any of them got to Diagon Alley was the article printed the following Monday in the _Daily Prophet_. Ron practically snatched the paper out of Hermione's hands as she started to set it down after finishing reading it.

"Really, Ron!" she said as he spread out the paper on the table before him and began reading intently. There'd been no winner, the first question he'd asked when Hermione received her copy from the delibery owl. "It's not as if the ink's going to disappear if you don't read it fast enough, you know." Ron ignored her.

"No one's won it yet, have they?" Jon asked as he sat down at the Gryffindor table on the other side of Hermione from Ron. Ron shook his head no.

"It looks like most of the wizards who've been trying to open it think there's some kind of pattern or sequence that needs to be set up with the tiles," Hermione told Jon. "Especially since the symbols on the tiles can be rotated as well as moved into different positions."

Jon had buttered a piece of toast and was now putting some raspberry jam on it. "How many tried this weekend?" he asked.

"Four," Hermione and Ron said together. "At the end of the article they quoted Bill saying they expected even more for the next round," Hermione added. Ron grunted, not sounding happy about that morsel of information.

"And how're you doing with figuring out the Vault, Ron?" Jon asked him.

"Fine," Ron said distractedly, still scanning the article closely.

"Which means, 'Not very well,'" Hermione translated, bluntly, for Jon. Ron turned to her, looking outraged.

"I'm doing _fine_," he repeated crossly, closing and folding the paper and dropping it on her books. "I'll be in the Library until it's time for class. See you, Harry, Jon." Without saying goodbye to Hermione Ron stalked away.

"His wand is sure in a knot, isn't it?" Jon remarked, watching Ron's retreating back.

"Tell me about it," Hermione said feelingly. "He gets crazy for a while after every round of that Tournament."

"Well, that's how people succeed sometimes," Jon said philosophically. "They push themselves farther than others are willing to."

"Yes," Hermione conceded. "No argument that Ron is looking very hard to figure out how to open the Vault. I just don't know," she lowered her voice so only Jon and Harry could hear, "what he's going to find linking it with his uncle Archie."

"You weren't convinced by what he said about the similarity of the designs?" Harry asked quietly.

"I don't know," Hermione replied. "I've said that before. I don't think it's conclusive, though – both Ron's great-uncle and whoever built the Vault might've just copied the same design."

"I hadn't thought of that," Harry admitted.

Ron showed up for Herbology and Transfiguration classes that morning, but afterwards he disappeared back into the Library to study his uncle's journal more, coming out only for lunch and dinner. He didn't appear again until after the Library closed for the evening, when he showed up in the Gryffindor common room, tired and rather cranky. Apparently he'd had no better success this day with his Vault studies than before.

The situation continued in similar vein for the next few days, until Ron finally tired of devoting day after day to figuring out the Mystery Vault and returned to his N.E.W.T. studies just before the Easter holidays began. Just in time, too, Harry thought, since the amount of homework they'd been given would take all of the free time they had during the week to finish.

A solution to the Gringotts situation was also slow to present itself. Harry had racked his brain since the idea of Voldemort using the Wizarding bank to hide his Horcruxes presented itself, but no idea on how to determine which Death Eaters were using it, short of watching the bank day and night, had come to him, Ron or Hermione.

The Monday after Easter, Harry, Ron and Hermione came down to the Great Hall for a leisurely breakfast. Afterwards, Hermione scanned the paper while Ron toyed with the Vault model and Harry considered his Gringotts options with increasing pessimism.

"There _has_ to be a way to find out which Death Eaters are using Gringotts," Harry muttered, more to himself than either Ron or Hermione, who both by now had learned to ignore such remarks.

"Don't you think so?" Harry finally said, looking at Ron with an annoyed frown on his face.

"Undoubtedly," Ron replied absently, still staring at the Vault model.

"We'll figure out something, eventually, Harry," Hermione said placatingly.

"It would _help_," Harry said scathingly, looking at Ron. "If _some_ people would put away their toys and start thinking about the problem."

"This is _not_ a toy," Ron said, annoyed himself now at Harry's attitude. "You wouldn't _believe_ how much effort Fred and George put in to build this model. And you ought to know, anyway," he added. "Since you had 'em make this model for me!"

"Alright, nevermind then," Harry said, not keen to disparage anything the twins had done.

"Right," Ron said, feeling vindicated. "They must've spent _months_ studying the Omniocular images they made of the Vault to get all of the moves right on it."

Harry looked up quickly at Ron. "That's right," he said, thoughtfully. "They set up an Omniocular lens to record the Vault sometime after the first Round, didn't they?" He pondered that fact for a while, then got out a scrap of parchment and began writing.

Some time later, both Hermione and Ron looked up, surprised, when suddenly sat back down in the chair between them.

"Were you gone?" Hermione asked him. "I didn't notice you'd left."

"Yeah," Harry said. "I just dashed off a quick note to Fred and George asking if I could have a look at the Omniocular they had set up for the Vault."

"What for?" Ron asked. "Who'd want to look at day after day of people trying to open the Vault?"

"I have a theory," Harry said, being mysterious himself for a change. "We'll see if it bears out."

The next day, Tuesday, Hedwig returned while they were having breakfast, with a letter for Harry from Fred and George:

* * *

_Harry,_

_No problem letting you see the Omniocular, mate. Only problem is, we'll need a face to face meeting. Probably too dangerous for you to travel, but never fear, we have a solution._

_At 4 p.m. on Wednesday, use McGonagall's fireplace to firetalk to Professor Lupin's fireplace in number 12 Grimmauld Place. We'll see you there!_

_— George and Fred_

* * *

"Huh! How do they think you're going to be able to do that?" Ron asked, annoyed, after he'd finished reading the letter. "They may as well come here as ask you to try that."

"I'll find a way," Harry said determinedly.

"What's your theory, Harry?" Hermione pressed him. But Harry still wouldn't say.

There was still a problem Harry had to overcome before he could talk to Fred and George, and that was the matter of getting into McGonagall's office Wednesday afternoon and using her fireplace without her knowledge. If she was in there the game would be up; Harry would have to hope Fred and George had chosen the time wisely, or at least luckily.

He did have a solution for getting into the office, however. Leaving the Great Hall early after dinner that night, he went to the corridor where the entrance to the Head's office was located. He pulled the Invisibility Cloak out from under his robe and covered himself, then activated the Marauder's Map ring.

"Where is Professor McGonagall?" Harry whispered, and the viewpoint of the castle flew to the Great Hall, where the figure labeled "Minerva McGonagall" was seated at the center of the High Table, as he expected. Now he need only wait until she returned to her office so he could hear the password, and hope she did not change it the next morning. Harry sat down against a wall near the stone gargoyle, deactivating the ring and making himself comfortable as he waited for McGonagall to appear.

Too comfortable, as it turned out. Harry was dreaming about Quidditch, his hand outstretched to catch the small flying object in front of him, when someone close to him said, "Snidget!"

Harry jerked awake, looking up from under the cloak to see Professor McGonagall standing before the gargoyle, looking around the corridor curiously. Had Harry said something aloud, possibly giving himself away?

At that moment the gargoyle leapt aside for McGonagall, and fortunately not onto Harry, who had been sitting next to it. With a final lingering look around the corridor, McGonagall stepped slowly onto the spiral staircase and moved out of view. The walls of the corridor shut behind her and the gargoyle leapt nimbly back to its original place.

Had "Snidget" been the password, or had Harry merely dreamed the word? He couldn't be sure, and he didn't want to risk trying it now for fear of alerting McGonagall that something indeed was amiss. He would have to risk it. Harry made his way back to the common room and confided his plan to Ron.

"Wicked!" Ron said softly after Harry'd told him what had occurred. "So we're going back tomorrow at four?"

"I'm not sure about the 'we' part," Harry said diffidently. "I don't want you to get caught too, if McGonagall is still in her office when we get there tomorrow."

"Blimey, Harry!" Ron said incredulously. "After all the things you've trusted me and Hermione with, d'you think getting McGonagall mad at us even makes a rat's fart worth of difference?"

And Harry certainly couldn't argue with that logic. Thus, Wednesday afternoon found him and Ron creeping toward the gargoyle under the Invisibility Cloak once again just before 4 p.m. A short distance from it, Harry stopped and whispered, "Let me check the Map." Activating it, he asked for Professor McGonagall's location only to feel a slight buzzing sensation from the ring. "She's not at Hogwarts," he said to Ron, his eyes wide. "I wonder how Fred and George knew she'd be gone?"

"Let's go ask 'em," Ron shrugged. The corridor was empty, so Harry took off the Cloak and slipped it under his robes.

Standing before the gargoyle, Harry said, "Snidget!"

The gargoyle leapt aside for them. Breathing a sigh of relief, Harry and Ron made their way up the staircase and into McGonagall's office.

"It's almost four p.m.," Ron said, looking at his watch. They walked over the fireplace. Harry grabbed a handful of Floo powder and cast it into the fireplace, saying loudly, "Number 12 Grimmauld Place!" The flames swirled, turning an iridescent green, and both of them leaned forward, experiencing the sensation of their heads seemingly spinning on their necks.

A moment later they found themselves looking at Professor Lupin's office. Glancing at Ron, Harry watched the green flames flickering eerily around his head. Ron, looking back at him, said, "Blimey, Harry – I've never seen anyone's head like this so close up."

"About time," a voice in the room said, and both Harry and Ron turned to see who had spoken.

Fred and George, who'd been standing to one side of the fireplace, stepped into view.

"Hi, Harry," Fred said. "Long time no see."

"Glad you could make it," George added. "Did you have any trouble getting into McGonagall's office?"

"No more than usual," Harry said. "You know, now that I think about it, I'm not sure how this is going to work. After all, I can't work the controls on the Omnioculars –"

"Not to worry," Fred said airily. "We took some time last night to anticipate what you wanted."

"Which is what?" Ron asked.

"Hold your horses, little bro," Fred cautioned. "We'll explain."

"Your request to see what was in the Gringotts Omnioculars intrigued us, Harry," George said. "We wondered just what you might want to look at, if not the past contestants, which have already been covered ad nauseum by the _Prophet_."

"And that left, pretty much, just the front doors of Gringotts itself," Fred finished. "From there, we reasoned, you were probably interested in only certain parties who might be coming and going. And that left, pretty much, only Death Eaters."

"Exactly right," Harry agreed with a wide smile. "Brilliant!"

Fred and George both made a little bow accepting Harry's praise. Fred produced a wrapped package with a strap around it. George took a pair of tongs from the rack next to the fireplace and, grasping the package carefully, held it so Harry could take the strap in his teeth.

"We've wrapped the Omnioculars in fireproof material. Hit the 'replay' button then the 'jump' button – we've marked the points of interest."

Harry stepped back, along with Ron, handling the package gingerly; it had gotten warm in the few seconds it had been in the flames. Unwrapping it, he found half an Omnioculars, just as he had seen at their shop in Diagon Alley some weeks ago. With Ron looking on, Harry brought it to his eye and hit the replay button, then 'jump.'

There was a series of brief images, each with a date and time given, starting back in late September. As Harry watched, a person walked into Gringotts, then out; along with the date and time the words "Elapsed Time" was shown along with the minutes and seconds.

The first series showed Lucius Malfoy's brother, Julius, entering and leaving the Bank in late September, and again in late October, the middle of December, and the end of February.

The next series of images was of Narcissa Malfoy. She entered the bank around the middle of October, then again in late December, and finally the middle of March.

Finally, and most interestingly, the images showed Severus Snape entering and leaving the bank, in late October, early January, and late March.

Wordlessly, Harry handed the Omnioculars to Ron, who watched the images. They then put the device back in its fireproof wrapping, Harry put the strap in his teeth, and they leaned back into the flames to reappear again in the fireplace in Grimmauld Place.

"So, what do you think?" Fred asked as George took the package out of Harry's teeth.

"Good choices," Harry said. "How did you come up with those three?"  
"It wasn't hard to imagine that you were looking for Death Eaters who showed up at odd times at Gringotts," George replied. "Julius Malfoy lives in Aberdeen – he doesn't need to come to London to do his banking, when there's a branch of Gringotts he could use much more easily."

"And we learned that Narcissa Malfoy has an Ever-Filling purse – or at least, _had_ one," Fred continued. "Yet she came to Gringotts several times before it was lost. And Snape – well, whether he's there on legitimate business or not, the dates and times of his visit indicate he traveled during lunch periods from Hogwarts."

There was a noise behind Fred and George; Fred looked back quickly, then turned and said hurriedly. "We've got to run. Owl us if you have any more questions. And get out of McGonagall's office, quick!" They turned and dashed toward a wall, away from the door of the office. Harry was about to say something when they suddenly opened a section of the wall and disappeared within it, while at the same moment the door of the office began to open.

Harry ducked quickly out of the fire, pulling Ron with him. "We'd better hurry!" he told Ron, and they bolted to the door of McGonagall's office, through it, and down the staircase, although Ron didn't pull the door completely closed. He started back but Harry, hearing the whosh of the fireplace, whispered, "Leave it!" and they continued quickly down the staircase and into the corridor beyond, Harry throwing the Invisibility Cloak over them as they exited the staircase.

"That was too close," Ron breathed as they made their way, under the Cloak, back to the Great Hall, where dinner was set to begin in several minutes. "Who d'you think was coming through the door?"

"Probably McGonagall," Harry guessed. "She may have been at Grimmauld Place on Order business. Maybe that's how Fred and George knew we could use her fireplace to reach them there. I just wonder how they got there themselves. And, why Lupin wasn't in his office."

"So what was the point of looking at those three Death Eaters?" Ron asked. "D'you think they have something to do with You-Know-Who's Horcruxes?"

"Yes," Harry said firmly. "They give us a starting point for which vaults they might hidden in. I'm guessing, but I think Voldemort must send them into Gringotts every so often to check that they're still there."

"I thought he wouldn't have told anybody about them," Ron objected.

"He probably hasn't told them what they are," Harry explained. "Only that he wants them kept safe. If they're ancient artifacts like Hufflepuff's cup, Slytherin's locket, and the Helm of Gryffindor, they might think he's checking up on them for that reason."

"Makes sense," Ron nodded.

After dinner, Harry had Ron write a letter to Bill asking if he could find out the vault numbers for Snape, Narcissa and Julius, hoping that the information would prove useful in some way. Bill's reply was succinct and disappointing, sent via Pigwidgeon returning from delivering their request:

* * *

_Ron and Harry,_

_Sorry guys, no can do. It's Gringotts policy that vault numbers be kept strictly confidential. It would mean my job and a heavy Ministry fine to boot if they or the goblins caught me with that information._

_Bill_

* * *

"We had to try," Ron said with a shrug.

Classes resumed after the spring break, and with them came more and more homework; fortunately, with the warmer weather that also came after Easter, students had more opportunity to enjoy fresh air and sun rather than the cloistered atmosphere of their various common rooms.

Unfortunately, more often than not, Ron again began to chose to forego the warmer temperatures and shut himself away in the Library or a corner of the common room, studying his great-uncle's journal and any other book he thought would be useful in discovering the riddle of the Mystery Vault. Often Harry and Hermione would return from a walk along the castle's winding road leading to the front gates to find Ron bent over both schoolbooks and the now-dogeared journal.

"What's really scary," Harry remarked once to Hermione, "is that it looks like Ron's studying even more than _you_ are."

The Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw Quidditch match produced an interesting upset: Hufflepuff won, 260 to 250, with the two Seekers chasing the Golden Snitch in a prolonged battle that ended when the Ravenclaw Seeker lost control during a high-speed turn and careened into the stands, knocking himself unconscious and giving the Hufflepuff Seeker a clear field to pursue the Snitch, which was caught less than a minute later. The win gave Hufflepuff the lead in Quidditch Cup points with 660, then Ravenclaw at 540, and Slytherin and Gryffindor in third and fourth place with 480 and 370 points, respectively. However, Slytherin and Gryffindor still had the final game to play, in mid-May.

And if there was any good that came of the heavy workload of N.E.W.T.-preparation homework, it was that all the seventh-years were far too busy to take time on the weekends to run off to Hogsmeade or elsewhere. In fact, Malfoy's accusation that Harry was the cause of seventh-year liberty being canceled began to backfire on him, as it began to sound as if Malfoy was making excuses for his own falling grades, which seemed to be slipping, even in Snape's Defense Against the Dark Arts class.

"What do you figure?" Ron asked, after they'd surreptitiously watched Malfoy grimace after seeing homework being passed back after grading.

"Like he failed another one," Harry said. "He's swearing at Zabini, I can see his lips moving. I reckon Zabini's about ready to hex him."

Watching Malfoy suffer was only mildly cathartic, however; Harry still had to figure out whether there were vaults inside Gringotts that held Voldemort's Horcruxes, and whether Snape, Julius and Narcissa Malfoy had been visiting them. He was alone on Friday night, staring morosely at his schoolbooks. Hermione had finally convinced Ron (by persuasion or threat, Harry wasn't quite sure) to give up his Vault studies for an afternoon and go for a walk with him. Jon was probably with Deirdre doing something similar.

Bored, needing distraction, Harry picked up his bookbag and pulled the few remaining books in it out, dropping them on the table in front of him. He reached in to clean out the remaining detritus on the bottom of the book bag: scraps of parchment, broken quills, empty candy wrappers and a few odd Every-Flavor Beans. And – a Galleon.

But this was not just any Galleon – this was the fake Galleon Mrs. Weasley had given him months ago, on the day he'd gone to the Ministry with Ron and Hermione for their meeting, as it turned out, with Dolores Umbridge. Staring at the fake coin in his hand, Harry suddenly wondered whether he could get in touch directly with Fred and George. They'd described how to make these for the Order, after all; it was elementary they would have made one for themselves.

Harry stared at the coin for several seconds, wondering if he could figure out how to make it work. For the coins Hermione had made, he just changed the serial number along the side to the day and time of the D.A. meetings and all the other coins changed as well. This time, however, he wanted to communicate only with Fred and George, with a fairly complex message.

Looking, with some annoyance, at the profile of the goblin's head on the obverse, Harry muttered, "How're you supposed to work, anyway?"

To his surprise the goblin turned to him and said, testily, "Just tap me and say the name of the person you want to send the message to, nitwit. If they have a coin it'll get the message you send."

"But – but how do I send the message, then?" Harry, nonplussed, sputtered.

"Write the words onto the face of the coin, you dolt," the goblin growled irritably. "When you're done, tap the coin and say 'Go,' and the message will show on the coin of the person you've sent it to. It's ridiculously simple, really." The goblin shook its head derisively and faced the edge of the coin again.

"Fine," Harry snorted. Tapping the coin, he said, "Fred Weasley, then scratched out a message on it, writing:

* * *

_Fred - Harry here - Can you think of a way to get the vault numbers of Snape, Narcissa and Julius at Gringotts Bank? I need to know where they might be storing something important for V'mort._

* * *

He then tapped the coin and said, "Go," and the coin flashed bright gold briefly. _How d'you know whether they've gotten the message?_ Harry wondered. He put the coin on the table next to his textbook and sat back again. But barely a minute later the coin glowed briefly, then letters began rolling across the face of the coin.

* * *

_Harry, it's Fred - Tall order, mate — you don't ask for much, do you? Seriously, George and I will give it some thought and get back to you with what we can._

* * *

With nothing more he could do on that front for now, Harry threw himself into the two major endeavors for spring: beating Slytherin in his final Quidditch match and studying for N.E.W.T.s. As important as the latter was to his future, Harry knew, he also felt that a decisive win over Slytherin to win the Quidditch Cup would be a nice capper to his years at Hogwarts. Harry pressed the other Gryffindors into practice whenever he could, painting a glowing picture of the abject humiliation the Slytherins would suffer when Gryffindor beat them. It would not be a trivial victory, Harry knew – they had to score at least 300 points to take the Cup away from Hufflepuff – but if he could keep Malfoy (or whomever was playing Seeker for the Slytherins now – Malfoy might have been replaced or quit, for all Harry knew) at bay long enough, then snatch the Snitch, that final victory would be sweet indeed.

Their practice the Saturday of Round 12 of the Vault Tournament was nearly flawless. Ginny, Demelza and Natalie passed the Quaffle expertly to each other, dodging Bludgers hit by Jimmy and Ritchie; they even scored off Ron five times out of the dozen passes they made before Harry set them to practicing steals from each other. He and Ron then played a game of "Bludger Tag" with his Beaters: Jimmy and Ritchie chased them about the goals at one end of the pitch, hitting Bludgers at them, while they tried to keep from being hit. It was hard work all around, but Harry had never felt "soft" practices did anyone much good; he wanted everyone playing full out, even himself, especially for this last game.

After practice, dinner – then four or so hours of homework, and finally, a hot bath in the prefects' bathroom and to bed. Harry smiled to himself as he lay under the covers, mind and body exhausted from the day's exertions – Ron hadn't once, Harry had noticed, said one word about not going to the Vault Tournament.

The next morning, getting ready for breakfast, Harry noticed as he shrugged into his robe there was a faint light coming from one of the pockets. Reaching inside, he pulled out the Galleon and found it flashing a message:

* * *

_Harry—here are the vault numbers you wanted—would love a fanfare to go with them, we'll have to put that in the next set of coins we make. Snape—789. Lucius & Narcissa Malfoy—814. Julius Malfoy—745. All are special access – requires a goblin to open each vault. –Cheers, Fred and George_

* * *

"They really got them, then," Ron said in an awed tone when Harry told him and Hermione at breakfast. "How did they manage it?"

"Dunno," Harry said, "I'm glad they did, though."

"What's the plan, then?" Ron asked eagerly. "What're you going to do with them?"

"I –" Harry stopped, looking a bit confused. "You know," he said finally. "I'm not really sure."

"Not really sure?" Hermione looked concerned. "Don't you know why you wanted those numbers, Harry?"

"Um," Harry said, falteringly. "Well… it must've been a good reason…" It was really very strange; he'd been so anxious to get those numbers, yet now that he had them, he couldn't remember why!

"Did you write it down anywhere?" Hermione asked hopefully.

"Well, if I did, I don't remember now!" Harry said, irritated by the question.

"Sorry," Hermione fired back. "I just thought you might have a brainwave about what you're doing, for once!" Ron looked at both of them but wisely held his tongue; he wasn't quite sure what to make of the rare circumstance when Harry and Hermione were upset with each other.

The week before the final Quidditch game, between Gryffindor and Slytherin, was an absolute blur for Harry. There was loads of homework in every subject, as they were in the final weeks before N.E.W.T. examinations; there was Quidditch practice, as much as Harry could coax out of his already pent-up team; the Slytherins were practicing hard, too, if the sign-up sheet for the Quidditch pitch was any indication.

Finally, the Friday night before the game, he, Ron and Hermione, whom he'd finally reconciled with earlier that day, sat in the common room, each with a bottle of butterbeer, the last of a case that had been smuggled in from Madame Rosemerta's.

"Do you really think we can do it tomorrow?" Ron asked, for the third time since they'd opened the butterbeers to toast the next day's game.

"Ron, _please_ stop asking that," Hermione said wearily. "You were brilliant in practice today – you're ready."

"Really think so?" Ron said, beaming, and took a final swig of his butterbeer, draining the bottle. "Yeah, I really felt like I was in the zone today."

"We were all there today," Harry said, draining his bottle as well. "We should have no problem tomorrow as long as we can keep Crabbe and Goyle from knocking anyone's brains out with those Bludgers – Colin said they've gotten quite good at being Beaters this year – 'murderous,' I think was the term he used."

"Jimmy and Ritchie aren't slouches either," Ron pointed out. "They're not in Fred and George's league, but they pack a mean wallop."

"They sure do," Harry agreed. "And just think – next year almost everyone from the team will be back – only you and I graduate this year, Ron."

"Oh, yeah," Ron said, considering that idea. "You know, I wonder who McGonagall will pick to be Captain next year, Ginny or Demelza?"

"What about Natalie?" Hermione put in. "She could do well as Captain – she's got a lot of energy."

"Too young," Ron shook his head. "She'll only be fifth year this fall."

"Oliver Wood was a Captain in his fifth year," Hermione pointed out.

"Well, that was a completely different situation," Ron objected. "He was the oldest player on the team. Katie Bell had just started her second year, and Harry was a first year!"

They debated the merits of Ginny, Demelza or Natalie as Captain for next year for some time, until Harry, yawning, finally decided to head to bed to get some rest for the match the next day.

He was walking along a narrow alleyway that seemed to reach up and out of sight, composed of stacks of books, old cabinets and tables stacked upon each other, and other old, dusty items. One cabinet, a white one, stood out among the others, and a small voice in his head said, _this one looks like it will do_. Harry made for it, realizing as he did that he was carrying three leather-bound boxes in his arms. He opened the cabinet, placed the boxes inside and shut the door. He pulled out his wand and tapped the cabinet door, saying words that were unfamiliar to him. An ornate "H" appeared on the door. "H" for Harry, he supposed. _Very good_, the voice in the back of his head said. Harry turned and looked at a cabinet across the from the one he'd just marked; on top of it was a bust of a very ugly wizard wearing a wig and tiara. Harry turned and walked back the way he came, until he came upon the Vanishing Cabinet, on his right. So he was in the Room of Requirement…

Harry's eyes opened and he sat up in bed. Sunlight was streaming in the windows of his dormitory, and Harry shielded his eyes from the brightness. He still felt drained, exhausted, as if he'd barely gotten any sleep at all, even though he must've been out for hours. On top of all that he felt ravenously hungry. He glanced blearily at his watch. It was not good, the time looked like only a few minutes before nine a.m.; if he didn't get a move on he'd miss breakfast. Harry jumped out of bed, fighting off the tiredness, quickly threw on some clothes and raced downstairs to the Great Hall, hoping he could snag something before the food disappeared.

As he ran into the room, Harry saw that even though there were a good number of students gathered at every table, there was no food on any of them. He swore under his breath; now he would have to wait until noon to eat.

At the Gryffindor table, Ron, Hermione and Jon looked up, seeing him, then looked at each other as he trudged tiredly over to where they were sitting. "Are you alright, Harry?" Hermione said anxiously as he sat down.

"No," Harry said shortly. "I missed breakfast."

"Yes, but at least you're here in time for lunch," she said. Ron and Jon were both watching him carefully.

"Yeah, if I can wait that long," Harry groused, rubbing his rumbling stomach.

"What d'you mean?" Ron asked. "It'll be lunch in ten minutes!"

"What?" Harry said, surprised. He looked at his watch. Now that he was more awake, he could clearly see the hands on his watch. They did not indicate a few minutes before nine a.m., as he'd thought earlier, but about ten minutes before noon. "Oh," he said, looking back at them. "I misread my watch earlier."

"When did you wake up?" Jon asked.

"Just a few minutes ago," Harry said, looking around the other tables. "I ran down here to try to get to breakfast, and find out it's almost time for lunch." He didn't see Ginny or any of the other Gryffindor Quidditch team members at the table. "Today's the Quidditch match, isn't it?" he asked, trying to remember if it was this Saturday or the next.

"It's today," Ron said nervously. "Blimey, Harry, what happened to you last night?"

Harry rubbed his eyes under his glasses. "I had a strange dream last night…"

"We had a strange night, _period_," Jon said emphatically.

Harry looked up at him. "What do you mean – ? Oh, good."

Lunch had just appeared on the table, plates full of roast beef, chicken and fish, bowls of corn and peas, potatoes prepared various ways, and baskets full of bread and rolls. Harry, unable to resist, immediately began filling his plate. He had just begun to eat when he noticed Hermione, Ron and Jon all watching him intently. "_What_?" he said finally, through a mouthful of roast beef and potatoes.

Hermione looked at Ron and Jon, who both shrugged. She turned back to Harry. "Do you want to tell us about last night?" she asked, staring at him intently.

"What about it?" Harry was hungrily stuffing more roast beef and mashed potatoes in his mouth, washing it down with great gulps of pumpkin juice. "We talked for a while then went to sleep."

"_After_ that," Ron prompted.

"After that," Harry said impatiently, "I woke up this morning dreaming I was wandering around in the Room of Requirement stuffing boxes into cabinets."

Hermione gasped, to Harry's surprised. She, Ron and Jon exchanged glances again, now looking positively alarmed. "Don't you remember what you did last night, Harry?"

"I just told you!" Harry argued, now getting annoyed. "Unless –" his annoyance evaporated as he grasped what they must mean. "You're saying that something else happened last night, after I went to sleep?"

"Yes," said Jon.

"Quite a bit, actually," Ron added.

"So _now_ will you tell me, now that Harry's here," Hermione said impatiently. "Especially since it has to do with –" she stopped, looking around before saying, in a lowered voice, "Well, with you-know-whats."

That startled Harry so much he stopped eating. "D'you mean –?"

"Yes," Hermione said, "_Those_ you-know-whats."

Harry was rapidly losing his appetite. He looked at Jon. "You'll have to excuse us," he said, getting up from the table. Hermione and Ron followed suit. "We have something private to discuss."

"About those 'you-know-whats?' " Jon said, looking at them.

"Yes, sorry," Harry said. "But we can't discuss that with you –"

"You mean," Jon said even more quietly. "The cup, the locket, and the helmet?"

Ron's jaw dropped while Hermione stifled a gasp of surprise. Harry simply stared at Jon for some time before saying, "Come on," and beckoning them all to follow him.

The four of them followed Harry out of the Great Hall, up the main staircase, along several other corridors and up another staircase, to the right and then to the left, until they came to a locked classroom door that opened as Harry pointed his wand. The four of them ducked inside it.

Once inside, Harry relocked the door and Imperturbed it. He moved close to Jon, his wand still out, looking very tense. "I need to know what you know about those objects."

"They're Horcruxes," Jon said flatly.

"How did you find out?" Harry demanded.

"I've _always_ known what a Horcrux is," Jon said, his gaze steady on Harry. "It's about the only explanation for how Voldemort could have survived a Killing Curse rebounding off you and striking him."

"How did you find out about Horcruxes?" Hermione asked, her eyes wide.

"At school," Jon said, turning to her.

"_School_?" Ron sputtered. "They teach you about that in _school_ in America?"

"It wasn't explicitly taught," Jon explained. "In fact, talking about them is even more discouraged there than here. But we don't try to censure the information – there are books that discuss the consequences of creating a Horcrux, both legally and morally."

"So you know about Horcruxes," Harry concluded. "Then what about last night?"

"What I didn't know, until last night, was that Voldemort had made more than one of them," Jon replied. "I've always assumed, up until last night, that you were probably looking for a single Horcrux."

"You _knew_ we were looking for Horcruxes?" Ron blurted.

"I guessed you were sometime late last year, before the Christmas break. But I didn't know for certain until last night."

"What happened last night?" Harry asked.

"I'd gone up to my room about midnight," Jon said. "I remember you, Hermione and Ron were sitting at a table in the common room, talking. The second-years in my room were giggling and telling each other stories about what had happened that day, but I tuned it out and fell asleep. The next thing I knew, you and Ron were standing over my bed, asking me to come with you."

Ron took up the story. "After we'd gone up to bed, I'd no sooner fallen asleep," he said to Harry, "than you woke me up again. You had a real strange look in your eye – I'd never seen you like that before. You even called me 'Ronald' – 'Ronald, would you get up, please?,' you'd said. 'There's something we must do tonight.'

"We went down and got Jon, then we got under your Invisibility Cloak and went out through the portrait and down several corridors to the –"

"—To the Room of Requirement," Harry finished.

"You remember, then?" Ron asked hopefully.

"No, just a wild guess," Harry said, with a touch of irony. "We seem to be coming back to that room all the time."

"Well, we did go there," Jon confirmed. "You walked up and down in front of it three times, and that big oaken door appeared, just like it has for me. But we didn't go inside right away. After the door appeared you said, 'We'll wait outside until the final two members of our party have joined us.'"

"And who were they?" Harry asked, wondering.

"Dobby and Kreacher," Ron said. "They popped in out of thin air right beside us. Dobby was all excited – said he was proud to help Harry Potter in his special mission. Kreacher, of course, was a different matter."

Harry could imagine. Kreacher, compelled to obey him, although he much would have preferred to have Bellatrix Lestrange as his mistress, hated Harry and all other "blood traitors" – pure-blood wizards who didn't believe in blood purity and associated with half-bloods or Muggles.

"I imagine he wasn't too happy to be there," Harry guessed.

"He wasn't," Ron agreed. "He bowed real low – I thought his nose scraped the floor – and said 'Master calls Kreacher and Kreacher is here, though Kreacher would rather that Master cut off Kreacher's head – or his own – than ask anything of him.'

"Well, you said, 'Be that as it may, Kreacher, you are here and we do have things to do.' You were very polite, Harry – almost more polite than even Hermione is – but when you got done speaking, Kreacher followed us into the Room of Requirement with nary a word more."

"Inside there," Ron continued, "was the biggest room I'd ever seen. It looked bigger than the Great Hall, and it was filled with row after row of –"

"—Junk," Harry finished. "Broken furniture, books, jewelry, toys, piles of potion bottles, hats, old rusty swords and helmets. Right?"

"Are you sure you don't remember what happened last night, Harry?" Jon asked.

"I'm on a roll, I suppose," Harry replied with a dry smile. Although he felt certain he could guess, he asked, "What did we do next?"

"We walked down one of the alleyways until we came to that Vanishing Cabinet," Ron continued. "The one Fred and George tossed Montague in when he tried to take points from 'em while he was in the Inquisitorial Squad."

"And the one the Death Eaters came through last year," Harry added quietly.

"Er, right," Ron said, falteringly. That was when his brother, Bill, had been attacked by the werewolf Fenrir Greyback, who'd come through the Cabinet with the Death Eaters. "Well, you told us we were going to find out where it would take us. But I thought we already knew where it would take us – to the other Vanishing Cabinet in Borgin & Burkes."

"There were three silver bands around the Cabinet," Jon continued. "To keep anyone who used it from getting out, I suppose. But you just tapped each one with your wand, Harry, and they fell apart and slipped to the floor."

Harry frowned, wondering what kind of magic he could have performed on those bands to make them fall away like that.

"We got inside the Cabinet," Jon continued, "and when we shut the doors the Cabinet seemed to spin around, faster and faster, until it finally thumped to a halt. Harry, you lit your wand and pushed open the door, saying 'Let us see just where it is we have arrived.' It was pitch black outside the Cabinet, but as we stepped out of it we could see more and more things around us."

"We were inside some kind of vault, Harry!" Ron said excitedly. "We could see mounds of Galleons, Sickles and Knuts on the floor. There were piles of gemstones, gold and silver jewelry, even ingots of gold and bars of white metal Jon said was platinum.

"But the only thing you went for, Harry, was a leather-bound box you found near the vault door. You seemed really happy to see it too." But then –" Ron threw up his hands indignantly "— I just knew something would go wrong – because it always does! – and it did."

"You asked Dobby to bring the box over to the Vanishing Chest," Jon said next, "but he couldn't even budge it off the floor. Then you asked him to levitate it, but that was hopeless too."

"Then you asked _me_ to levitate it," Ron said. "Well, I didn't think I stood a chance, but –" Ron puffed out his chest a bit "– it lifted off the floor just as pretty as you please!"

"Finally," Jon went on, "you asked Dobby to step under the box and see if he could Apparate with it. We didn't think that would work, if levitation wouldn't, but he had no problem Apparating the box over to the Vanishing Cabinet – as long as it wasn't touching the floor of the vault."

"Strange," Harry said, trying to make sense of these facts. He had already recognized the leather box – it sounded very similar to the ones old Hepzibah Smith had kept Helga Hufflepuff's cup and Salazar Slytherin's locket in, even though it wasn't the right size for either of those artifacts. For now, however, before he divulged anything about that, he wanted to hear the rest of the story. "There were no other boxes inside the vault?"

"Interesting that you ask that," Jon said, "because that was the very next thing you brought up. You said, 'There are two more boxes similar to this one, in two other vaults. Jon, I want you and Dobby to find the vault numbered 745. Dobby, you'll Apparate inside, bringing Jon with you – there are Anti-Apparition spells that will prevent any wizard from getting in by himself – but you'll be able to do it.

"'Once inside, locate the box. Jon will levitate it and you will then Apparate it and him outside the vault. Jon, be careful not to touch the vault door – if you do, it will suck you inside – and I'm given to understand that the sensation is not pleasant. I will locate the other box, with Kreacher's help.'"

"Ron, what did you do while Harry and Jon went to get the other boxes?" Hermione wanted to know.

"Guarded the first box, I suppose," Ron said, with an unnerved expression on his face. "I don't mind telling you it was rather creepy, all alone in there. Both of them were gone for several mintues."

"It took Dobby and me most of that time just to find vault 745," Jon said. It was up one level and there so many vaults – and we could hear dragons roaring somewhere, we just couldn't tell how far away they were. Finally we found it and Dobby Apparated us in. From there it went pretty easy: We found the leather box, much smaller than the first one – although Dobby couldn't lift or levitate that one either – and I floated it up so he could get under it and Apparate us out of there and back in front of the vault where you were, Ron.

"We were back before Harry and Kreacher. Dobby was rather afraid for you, Harry – he kept saying, 'Dobby should go find Harry Potter. Kreacher is a wicked, mean elf – he doesn't want to obey Harry Potter's orders.' I told him to give you a few more minutes, and you and Kreacher appeared within a short time later."

Harry listened to this story with a growing anxiety. He could remember none of this, even though it obviously took place over the span of long minutes. "Then what – did we return with the boxes?"

"No, actually – things got _really_ interesting at this point," Jon said, and Ron nodded agreement. "Dobby and Kreacher Apparated us inside and we had the three boxes lined up in front of the Vanishing Cabinet. Harry, you then said, 'We are nearly finished with our midnight adventure, gentlemen.'"

"I actually _said_ that?" Harry sounded incredulous.

"Told you, you weren't acting yourself last night," Ron said matter-of-factly.

"Anyway," Jon continued. "You took three Galleons from a nearby stack of coins and placed on in front of each of the boxes. One by one you waved your wand at each Galleon, and it Transfigured into an exact duplicate of each box it was in front of.

"You took three more Galleons and, opening each of the original boxes one by one, you Transfigured the Galleon into a replica of the object inside – a two-handled cup, a locket, and a gold helmet. You levitated each of the original objects from their original boxes into the duplicate boxes, then replaced the duplicated objects into the original boxes. In other words, the old switcheroo."

"With all that done," Ron said next. "You turned to Dobby and said, 'I must ask one final favor of you, Dobby. Will you return two of these boxes to the vaults from which they were obtained? The middle sized box, the one Kreacher and I returned with, goes in vault number 789; the other one, of course, in number 745.' And Dobby, of course, was very happy to accommodate you. He grabbed the two boxes and Apparated away. That didn't make Kreacher very happy, I can tell you.

"It was almost scary." Ron paused a moment, a look of awe on his face. "I never saw a house-elf look so angry – and Kreacher doesn't look any too pleasant, even on his best behavior. I dunno what surprised me more – what Kreacher did next, or what Harry did."

"What did he do?" Hermione blurted out, and –

"What did I do?" Harry said, at the same moment. Ron, looking a bit intimidated, gulped and said nothing.

But Jon took up the story again. "Kreacher started walking toward the vault door. Harry said, 'Don't follow him, Kreacher,' but Kreacher didn't stop. Harry then said, 'I forbid it, Kreacher!' and Kreacher turned around and hissed at him, like a snake."

"No," Hermione gasped, covering her mouth.

Jon nodded. "Yes. He then raised a gnarled old hand and started to snap his fingers, presumably to Disapparate, but Harry pointed his wand – a bolt of blue lighting erupted from it – and Kreacher was frozen."

"Frozen? Harry!" Hermione whirled round to stare at him, incensed. "How could you do that to a house-elf you're keeping in slavery?!"

"_I don't even remember doing it_!" Harry yelled, quite forgetting they were hiding in an empty classroom.

"How can you _not_ remember stuff like this?!" Hermione shouted back. "You remember all your dreams! Why can't you remember this?"

"I don't know!" Harry bellowed. "It sounds like I was –" He stopped short, realizing what he was about to say:

_Possessed_.

Could _that_ be what was going on here? The facts fit – when Ginny had been possessed by Voldemort during her first year at Hogwarts, she could remember almost nothing of the experience. Harry could remember nothing about what had happened last night.

And the story Ron and Jon were telling seemed incredible – _how_ could Voldemort have blundered so badly in collecting all of his Horcruxes (if indeed the leather-bound boxes they described contained what Harry assumed they did) in one spot, so easily accessible?

Hermione, whose eyes had been blazing with anger at whatever injustice she imagined had been perpetrated upon Kreacher, softened as she saw the horror in Harry's eyes. "Harry, what – what is it?" she asked haltingly, afraid that something horrible was about to happen to him.

"Could – could Voldemort have possessed me?" Harry said, looking at Ron and Jon. "You said I was acting differently – was I – was I acting like – him?"

But both Ron and Jon were staring at him as if the very suggestion were ludicrous. Ron was shaking his head emphatically.

"No," Jon said. "Voldemort didn't possess you, Harry. Listen. After you froze Kreacher, you walked over to him, bent over and looked him in the eye. 'I hope you'll forgive me for that one day,' you said to him. 'But I rather imagined you needed some time to cool off.' " Ron reacted with a snort of laughter, while Jon chuckled. Even Hermione smiled while shaking her head reproachfully.

"And you picked him up and put him into the Vanishing Cabinet," Jon finished, "just as Dobby reappeared and told you that the copies of the boxes were in the vaults they had come from. If Voldemort was possessing you, he was acting very unlike himself."

"But it's not out of the question," Harry persisted. "If he was pretending to be me, that is probably just how I would act, isn't it?"

Hermione and Ron both nodded, reluctantly, and Jon shrugged. "It was a flawless performance, then," Jon said simply, "from a creature who seems notorious for having no empathy or conscience."

"Perhaps so," Harry said. "What else happened?"

"Not much left to tell from there," Ron said simply. "We got into the Vanishing Cabinet again, it spun round a bit, and we stepped out into the Room of Requirement with a frozen Kreacher, Dobby, and the three boxes."

"And then what?" Harry asked. "Where are the boxes now?"

"Still in there, we think," Jon said. "You unfroze Kreacher; he slumped to the floor in a deep sleep, and you asked Dobby to take him down to the kitchen and fix a place for him to sleep undisturbed, after he'd finished helping you. And –" He gave Harry a significant look "— you went and got that great big bloody axe that was in the room, came back, and broke the Vanishing Cabinet into pieces."

"Then you picked up those boxes, said, 'We'll return shortly and we can go back to bed,' then you and Dobby walked off into one of those alleyways of broken furniture," Ron said. "You were gone for quite a while; we thought for a bit you might have gotten lost, or something."

Harry stood up. "Come on," he said, striding to the door. "We need to find out what was in those boxes –"

"Oh my God!" Hermione jumped to her feet as well, looking at her watch. "Harry, it's almost time for the Quidditch match!"


	31. Deidre's Secret

Chapter 31

**DEIRDRE'S SECRET**

"That'll have to wait," Harry said. He took out his wand, removed the Imperturbable Charm on the door and unlocked it. Opening it, he started to walk through it. "Let's go –" but none of the others had moved.

"Harry," Ron said. "This is the _last game of Quidditch_ we'll ever play against Slytherin! Ginny and Demelza and the others are counting on us. Those boxes are safe for now – they'll keep another hour or so."

_So close_, Harry thought. If what had happened last night was true, they were _so close_ to defeating Voldemort Harry could taste it. Weighed against that, the Quidditch game was nothing. _Nothing_.

_But_ – and it was a very big 'but' – Ron was correct; those boxes would keep where they were. The only way any Death Eater had of getting into the school undetected was destroyed now. Could he put off finding out about those boxes for just an hour or so longer?

Harry opened the door of the classroom and bolted through it. Ron, Hermione and Jon ran, following him. Harry ran through corridors, down one staircase, then down the main one into the entrance hall and skidded to a halt. He and Ron both looked at each other and at the same moment said, "Brooms!" At the same moment they took out their wands, each shouting, "_Accio_ Broom!" There was a distant set of thuds and a few moments later two brooms came streaking toward them. Harry and Ron each caught their broom, turned, and streaked out the front door toward the Quidditch pitch with Hermione and Jon running hard after them.

The arrived in the changing room just as the rest of the team, hearing the Slytherins in the crowd shout and jeering for the Gryffindor team to come out and take its lumps, had resigned themselves to telling Madame Hooch they would have to forfeit. "Where were you?!" Ginny shouted, furious, as they began throwing on their Quidditch robes as quickly as they could.

"Long story," Harry panted, out of breath, as he fastened his robe in place. "Tell you after the game." They finished dressing in record time. "Let's go kick their butts!" The Gryffindors flew out onto the pitch.

"About time, Potter!" Malfoy jeered, holding his arm up as if checking his watch. "We thought you were going to chicken out when you realized how badly you were going to be beaten today!" The other Slytherins chuckled nastily.

"Enough of that, Malfoy," Madam Hooch said sharply as she strode onto the pitch. "Now, if we're all ready –" she cast a sidelong glance at Harry "— let's get this game in the air, and keep the fouls to a minimum. On _both_ sides," she finished, looking round at both teams gathered around her. Harry nodded, ready to lift off the moment she blew the whistle. And both sides rose into the air.

"Miss Weasley takes the Quaffle, she's driving toward the Slytherin goals," a familiar but unexpected voice rang out, and Harry turned to see none other than Professor McGonagall commentating. "She passes to Robins, who passes to McDonald, and back to Weasley, who shoots – it's blocked by Harper."

Harry was so engrossed in McGonagall's play-by-play that he nearly fell off his broom when Ginny said, almost in his ear, "Are you just going to sit there and watch, Harry?"

"Sorry," Harry said quickly. "Why's McGonagall commentating?"

"Don't think she trusted anyone else to do this last game," Ginny said with a careless shrug. "Gotta fly!" She streaked off to help stave off the first Slytherin goal drive.

Both teams were playing fast and furious. Neither side liked the other at all; while within the school itself competition was limited to the academic (and the occasional hex or jinx), here on the Quidditch pitch emotions could be given free rein. Crabbe and Goyle, though both thick as mud in Harry's opinion, had become quite skilled in the use of the Beater's bat, but so had Jimmy and Ritchie, his own Bludger men. The skill and quickness of Harry's Chasers, Ginny, Demelza and Natalie, were matched by the sheer size and strength of Slytherin's men, Baddock, Pritchard and Witte. The score stayed fairly even; fifteen minutes into the match, it was 70 points to Gryffindor while Slytherin was right behind them with 60.

McGonagall's commentary, as well, was a pleasant surprise. Used to commentaries in past games from the likes of Zacharias Smith, Luna Lovegood, and even Neville Longbottom, her crisp, steady calling of the game was in no way distracting. This was fortunate for Harry, since he already had his share of distractions to deal with, as he kept wondering what he would find back in the Room of Requirement as well as tracking what Malfoy and the other Slytherins were doing, and watching for the Snitch in case it showed up before it was quite convenient.

Their strategy for this game was well defined: Hufflepuff, with 660 points in the series, was currently in the lead for the Quidditch Cup. Ravenclaw came next with 540 points, then Slytherin with 480 and finally Gryffindor, in last place with 370 points. To win the Cup, Gryffindor would have to score at least 300 points, and they would have to keep Slytherin from scoring more than 280.

"Witte passes the Quaffle to Baddock, who feints a pass to Pritchard and scores again, giving them 80 to Gryffindor's 90 points," McGonagall called. "Ginny Weasley with the Quaffle now, she's heading toward the Slytherin goals. She passes to Robins, who passes back to McDonald, who dodges a Bludger hit by Crabbe and – and _what_ _the devil is wrong with you, Hooch_? _Didn't you see that blagging_?!"

Baddock had come up behind Natalie and, with his body between her and Madame Hooch, grabbed the back of her broom, throwing her off-course. The Gryffindors shouted and jeered, calling for the foul, but Hooch, shaking her head, made no move to call it. Meanwhile, Witte had recovered the Quaffle and he and Pritchard were driving toward the Gryffindor goals. Jimmy and Ritchie sent a Bludger after each of them, but they were too far behind to catch up, and the two Slytherins executed a nearly flawless "Tutshill's T" – a maneuver where one Chaser passed in front of another just beyond the scoring area, passing them the Quaffle as they did so. The Keeper, following the first Chaser, could not usually reverse in time to stop the second Chaser from scoring.

Ron, however, must have guessed what was going to happen – or perhaps he just got lucky. In either case, what should have been a quick score for Slytherin turned into a spectacular save for Ron.

Harry and the other Gryffindors whooped as Ron passed the Quaffle back into play. "A lucky catch," he heard over his shoulder, and turned to see Malfoy hovering above and behind him, wearing a sneer on his sharp, pale face. "You must've got Slughorn to give you some Felix Felicis for Weasley. Oh, I forgot," he chuckled nastily. "You aren't in Slughorn's little club any more, are you?"

"Malfoy," Harry said through clenched teeth, but –

"Oy! Draco!" Harper, the Slytherin Captain, was shouting at Malfoy as well. "Stop mucking about with Potter and find that ruddy Snitch!"

Malfoy scowled at Harper, but with a final contemptuous look at Harry he flew off in search of the Snitch, while Harry kept diligent watch on his own.

Gryffindor scored twice more in the next several minutes, as did Slytherin, making the score 110 to 100, with Gryffindor still in the lead. Then, perhaps in retaliation for Ron's stupendous save earlier, Crabbe and Goyle caught Ginny Weasley in a "Beater's Blatch" – Crabbe hit a Bludger toward her, and when Ginny turned to gauge where it was behind her, Goyle flew directly into her path. Ginny slammed into the Slytherin, knocking her off her broom and sending her plummeting toward the ground 50 feet below.

Harry, who was fortunately not far away from the collision, immediately sent his broom into a dive, getting under Ginny and catching her with one arm and stopping her fall. The downward momentum carried them to the ground, where Harry released his broom and caught Ginny up in both arms. The impact against Goyle had bruised her cheek and bloodied her lip.

Harry could hear the Gryffindors in the crowd, as well as McGonagall herself, who'd abandoned all appearances of impartiality, shouting for the foul, but none of that mattered at the moment. All that mattered to Harry, he was holding and looking at this very moment.

Ginny groaned; she hadn't quite been knocked unconscious. "Did somebody conjure up a brick wall in front of me, or what?" she said, grimacing.

"Close," Harry said. "It was Goyle. They just called him for blatching."

"Good," Ginny said woozily. "Get me my broom – I'll have that penalty shot in the bag."

But Harry was carrying her over to the edge of the pitch, where Madame Pomfrey was anxiously waving them toward her. "I think you'd better let the nurse have a look at you first. We'll have Demelza or Natalie do the penalty."

"Don' be s-silly," Ginny said, looking at him with unfocused eyes. "I'm fine."

"Right," said Harry. He laid Ginny down on a stretcher while Madame Pomfrey examined her quickly.

"Concussion," she said to Harry a moment later. "I'll have it fixed in a moment, but she'll need to rest for a bit."

Harry nodded and knelt down beside Ginny. "I'll be back in a bit," he told her. "And we'll talk a bit, okay?"

"Just give me a second," Ginny was saying, trying to sit up. "I'll be right back up there."

Leaving her in Pomfrey's hands, Harry ran back to where his broom had fallen, mounted it, and rejoined the rest of his team in the air. Unfortunately Demelza, who'd taken the penalty shot, had been so enraged at Crabbe and Goyle that she very clearly telegraphed her shot; Harper easily saved it. Now, with play resumed, the Gryffindor team was a player short.

Slytherin played that shortage to their advantage against the now-disheartened Gryffindors, scoring fourteen unanswered goals to bring the score to 260 to 130. Slytherins in the crowd were shouting and cheering while Gryffindors screamed for their team to turn things around.

"Robins and McDonald bring the Quaffle toward the Slytherin goal; Crabbe and Goyle bring pressure but Peakes diverts one Bludger and Robins avoids the other," McGonagall ignored the jeers of the Slytherins in the crowd. Robins shoots – Harper has the save." The Slytherins brought the Quaffle down for another goal, making the game 270 to 130, and Harry was becoming desperate. One more goal and Slytherin would tie Hufflepuff for the Quidditch Cup; two more, and even if Harry caught the Snitch they would only draw the game and Slytherin would have the Quidditch Cup.

So far, however, there had been no sign of the Snitch since it had been released at the start of the game. Harry had circled the pitch, straining his eyes all the while to catch a glimpse of it, being careful to keep an eye on Malfoy as well, in case he saw it first.

The crowd roared as Ron made a particularly close save against a hard-pressed attack by Pritchard and Witte, giving Harry a few more moments to find the Snitch. Demelza and Natalie, encouraged by Ron's brilliant save, scored against Harper, then stole the Quaffle back a few moments later from Baddock as he dodged a hard-hit Bludger from Ritchie. Unfortunately Demelza, double-teamed by a twin Bludger attacks from Crabbe and Goyle, lost the ball to Witte.

Witte, spinning around in mid-air to race back toward the Gryffindor goal, suddenly pointed ahead of him and shouted to Malfoy, "Draco, look!" Harry looked as well – both of them caught sight of the Snitch at the same moment; it had somehow made its way, unnoticed, to almost the middle of the pitch. Witte then flashed off toward Ron while Harry and Draco raced toward the Snitch.

Draco was closer but the acceleration of the Crown Jewel broom was amazing; Harry felt the air pressure build up as he accelerated toward top speed. Heading toward Gryffindor's goals, Harry could see Witte and Baddock passing the Quaffle back and forth in an effort to confuse Ron and evade Jimmy and Ritchie's Bludger hits.

It would be close – if Witte or Baddock threw the Quaffle toward the goal before Harry caught the Snitch, it would count if it went through. His hand closed on the Snitch as Witte released the Quaffle. Harry and Malfoy zoomed past each other at a combined speed of over 250 m.p.h., Harry catching a momentary glimpse of Malfoy's shocked expression as he went past.

Harry hit the brakes, watching the Quaffle float toward the goal as if in slow motion. Ron was stretching out for it – his body had nearly left contact with his broom. His fingertips touched the Quaffle – and stuck. He'd saved the point! Gryffindor had won the game, 290 to 270!

The Gryffindors in the stands went wild, as did the Hufflepuff spectators. For them, it meant the first Quidditch Cup in quite some time. The Hufflepuffs exited the pitch en masse to celebrate their victory, while the Slytherins skulked away, scowling to a man, to abuse both McGonagall and Hooch for bias against their team.

Harry and Ron quickly changed out of their robes after congratulating and hugging the other team members. "We beat Slytherin!" was the cry in the changing room – it hardly mattered that they had not won the Cup. They had beat the Slytherins, and that was enough to be happy about. That, and that Ginny hadn't been seriously injured by her collision with Goyle and subsequent fall. Promising to return to the common room as soon as they could, Harry and Ron headed toward the infirmary.

Ginny was the only patient in the infirmary. She looked up as they walked in, a somewhat plaintive smile on her face. "I heard McGonagall give the final score," she sad as Harry and Ron sat down on opposite sides of the bed next to her.

"Yeah," Ron said, a bit morosely. "The best save of my career, in my last game, and it gives the Quidditch Cup to Hufflepuff!"

"Better them than Slytherin," Ginny shrugged. She looked at Harry with a grin. "Well, at least I should be able to make Seeker next year."

"Or even Captain," Harry smiled, then sobered quickly as he looked her over. "So, how're you doing?"

"She's fine," Madame Pomfrey, having just come from her office, interjected. "Her concussion cleared up straightaway and she seems to be suffering no aftereffects." She looked at Ginny, smiling. "I'm releasing you, dear." Pomfrey shook her head. "I'm just glad this was the last Quidditch match of the year – lord knows, most of the students I see in here are from playing that game!"

The post-match celebration was in full swing by the time the three of them made it back to the common room. Everyone cheered as Harry, Ron and Ginny entered the room, and Dean and Jimmy handed them each a butterbeer that had been "discovered" by Dobby in a hidden pantry down in the kitchens.

Jimmy and Ritchie came over to congratulate them again on the game. They seemed unusually hesitant until Jimmy said, "Harry, we just wanted to thank you, for giving us the chance to play Quidditch with you again this year. We had some really great games, and we have some really great memories, and some really great gifts –" he held up his Crown Jewel "– to remember you, and Ron, by."

"Thank you," Harry said, very moved by Jimmy's speech. "And we should thank Jon Crown for these brooms as well." He looked around, but didn't see Jon anywhere in the common room. He turned back to Jimmy and stuck out his hand. Jimmy shook it, as did Ritchie, who'd walked over to join them.

Ginny came over as well, and stood there next to Harry, smiling at him. He put an arm around her, happy that she was okay, and she put her arm around him in return.

The portrait opened and Jon and Hermione came in. Hermione hurtled over to Ron, hugging him, then turning to Harry as well. "I couldn't believe how fast you were going!" she said breathlessly. "Jon said you were going maybe 170 m.p.h. when you caught the Snitch."

"Yeah," Harry said. "It was pretty fast, all right."

The party went on late into the evening, celebrated by both Hufflepuff and Gryffindor in the Great Hall during dinner that evening, to both Slytherin and Ravenclaw's chagrin; Ravenclaw had been left in fourth place in the standings. The celebration in the Gryffindor common room, with sandwiches and more butterbeer brought up by Dobby, until the small hours of the morning, until the last remaining students, including Harry and Ron, wandered off to sleep.

At the end of that week, as in their fifth year for O.W.L.s, schedules for their N.E.W.T examinations were handed out in Transfiguration class by Professor Tonks. "You'll be examined by the same wizards from the Wizarding Examination Authority who did your O.W.L.s," Tonks told them as they copied the schedule she'd written on the blackboard. "N.E.W.T.s are usually a bit more informal," she added, "since we don't need the Great Hall, which is being used for O.W.L.s anyway."

"Interesting," Hermione muttered, reaching into her book bag. She pulled out a piece of parchment from a well-used folder and compared it to the schedule she'd just written down. "They're holding the examinations on the same days and times that we did O.W.L.s on," she said, looking at Harry and Ron.

Ron snatched the piece of parchment from her. "D'you mean to tell me that you've kept this schedule for the past _two years_?" Ron said incredulously.

"It never hurts to be prepared," Hermione said, snatching the parchment back.

"Right," Ron said, picking up her book bag and looking in it. "So, d'you have your first-year papers in here too, by any chance?"

"Of course not!" Hermione said, sounding affronted. "They're at home –" She stopped, glaring at them, because Harry and Ron had burst into laughter.

"You're having a lot of fun over there just copying N.E.W.T.s schedules," Tonks said loudly. Harry and Ron instantly stopped laughing.

After class, Harry watched Jon and Deirdre walk away together. "What's up?" Ron asked, walking up behind him.

"I was just wondering that about those two," Harry said, nodding toward the two exchange students.

"Well, it's good they're back together, I think," Ron said. "I was starting to wonder if Jon was getting ideas about Hermione again."

"Yeah, well, you were the only one who was," Harry muttered, looking around to see where Hermione was. She was still in the Transfiguration classroom, talking to Tonks.

"What d'you mean?" Ron argued. "You saw them come into the common room together after the game, didn't you?"

"Because they walked back together after the game," Harry pointed out. "They probably even sat together watching the game. Come on, Ron! It's not like they were snogging under the stands or something."

"Don't even say that, Harry!" Ron looked like he'd been imagining something exactly like that.

"Ron," Harry said, exasperated, "you _know_ Hermione is crazy for you!" Several students passing them in the hall looked at both of them peculiarly.

"Alright already!" Ron hissed. "Keep your voice down!" He looked around, then stepped closer. "That's what she tells me, Harry. But why is she still hanging out with him?"

"Because she can still have friends even if she is, can't she?" Harry said. "Aren't you still friends with Lavender even though you're with Hermione now?"

"No," Ron said emphatically, looking as if that should have been utterly obvious to Harry.

"All right, bad example. The point is," Harry continued quickly, "you could still be with friends with her and it would be okay with Hermione."

"No, it wouldn't," Ron said firmly. "She hates Lavender now."

"I see them talking all the time!" Harry said, outraged. "What d'you mean she hates Lavender?!"

"She thinks Lavender is helping Romilda Vane figure out how to break me and Hermione up."

"Romilda Vane?" Harry said disgustedly. "She doesn't even _like_ you, Ron!"

"Yeah, I told Hermione that, too," Ron pointed out. "Doesn't matter, she said, Romilda doesn't want _me_, she just wants me and Hermione broken up." Harry shook his head. Just when he thought he might have girls figured out –

"I thought you two would be back in the common room by now," Hermione said, coming up to them. "What's going on?"

Ron started to open his mouth, but Harry cut him off. "Never mind," he said quickly, making up his mind at that moment what to do. "We're going to do a little detective work – want to come along?"

Hermione looked doubtful. "I was going back to study a bit. Do either of you want to help quiz me?"

"No," Ron and Harry said together. Hermione scowled at them.

"Come on, go with us," Ron said. "It'll be a lark."

"What are we going to do?" Hermione asked.

"No idea," Ron said. "Harry?"

"Wait here," Harry said, heading for the nearest staircase. "I'll be right back!" He ran up to Gryffindor Tower, giving the Fat Lady the password "Outstanding!" and up to his dormitory where he grabbed his Invisibility Cloak, stuffing it into his book bag, then sprinted back to the Transfiguration classroom where Ron and Hermione were still waiting for him.

"Come on," he said, and Ron and Hermione followed him down to the ground floor and into the corridor leading north from the entrance hall. Checking that classroom 11 was not being used, Harry led them into the room and closed the door behind them, then took out his wand and tapped the Marauder's Map ring. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," he said, then asked, "Where is Jon Crown?" even before the titles displayed. The view of the castle spun, taking them north and east to show two figures, labeled "Jon Crown" and "Dierdre," walking toward the Forbidden Forest, where Harry had seen them going once before.

"Why doesn't her label say 'Dierdre Recaunt?'" Ron asked, pointing at the figure displayed by the Map.

"Dunno," Harry said. He'd noticed that before as well, but hadn't had time to think about it, then.

"Maybe 'Recaunt' isn't her last name," Hermione pondered.

"Says so on the Naming Scroll," Ron argued.

"Never mind that now," Harry said, tapping the ring again and muttering "Mischief managed!" to deactivate the Map. They ran back down the corridor and out the front door, then along the north side of the castle, heading toward the Forbidden Forest near the spot where Jon and Deirdre would have entered.

About a hundred yards from the edge of the forest, Harry stopped and pulled out the Invisibility Cloak. "Time to put this on," he told them.

"Are we going to _spy_ on them, Harry?" Hermione looked at him shrewdly.

"Pretty much," Harry admitted.

"Right, then," Hermione said, nodding. "Let's go." She stepped next to Harry so he could cover them more easily. Harry and Ron looked at each other for a moment, and Ron shrugged almost imperceptibly. Throwing the Cloak over them, the three proceeded carefully to the edge of the forest, then entered it.

Forty or fifty feet into the forest, Harry seemed to hear voices coming from the left of the trail they were following. He pointed to a small opening in the tall grass and shrubs, and they made their way carefully in that direction.

The voices grew gradually louder. It was Jon and Deirdre's voices; they were talking normally. "Careful, Ron," Harry whispered, hearing him disturb some undergrowth. "Don't make so much noise."

"Not me," Ron whispered back.

"Shhh," Hermione cautioned. "They're just ahead."

They walked forward about ten more feet to a dip in the bushes made a natural window into the small clearing where Jon and Deirdre were talking. Stepping up to the bushes, the three of them saw Jon, seated on a small wooden chair he'd evidently conjured, and Deirdre, who was pacing nervously back and forth, rolling her head around and around as if working her neck muscles.

"I just can't believe how tense I am in there," Deirdre was saying.

"You've been cooped up inside a long time," Jon said gently, watching her pace. "At least when we had liberty you could go back to your village for a few hours, to get away from it all."

"But not now, thanks to that Harry Potter," she said, sounding bitter.

"It wasn't Harry's fault," Jon shook his head. "Snape canceled it. If it was anyone's fault it was mine, because Snape wanted to stop us from going to Diagon Alley so often."

"Then if it was _anyone's_ fault," Deirdre said, sounding annoyed. She worked her head from side to side. "It was Draco Malfoy's, because he's the one who reported his own purse stolen so there'd be an investigation at Azkaban, you said."

There was a rustling behind Harry, and he turned to see if Hermione or Ron had disturbed some of the bushes. But neither of them had moved.

"I wouldn't waste any anger on Malfoy," Jon said. "At the rate he's going, he's not going to amount to much. From what Harry's said, he isn't even much of a Death Eater, if he couldn't even kill Professor Dumbledore when he had him alone and helpless."

Deirdre stopped pacing and looked at Jon. "He's one man I will miss, very much," she said, sounding sad. "I never met him, but Firenze said he was a very great man, very kind and wise. He had a lot of respect for Dumbledore; he said that if anyone could unite us, he could have."

"I wish I'd met him too," Jon said quietly.

Deirdre walked over to him and put a hand on his face. "Are you sure you're not interested?" she asked with a provocative smile. "It would be a pleasant way to pass the afternoon."

Jon smiled and stood. "It's tempting," he admitted, kissing her and stroking her cheek. "I wish you'd give the human way another try sometime – it's a lot easier finding a place in the castle than coming out here."

"I enjoy it more this way," she said, kissing him back. "You like it this way too, don't you?"

"It's – different," Jon said. "I won't deny that."

She released him and turning away, walked a few steps. "I just need to get out of this skin sometimes," she said, and closed her eyes.

Suddenly her figure began to blur and shift; she grew taller and longer as an extra pair of legs and a tail formed at the end of a trunk growing outward from her back, and a moment later a palomino horse's body topped with Deirdre's torso turned and looked down at him with a relieved smile. "Ahh," she said, "_Much_ better!"

Ron and Hermione's eyes were both wide with shock. Both of them had covered their mouths to keep from making any noise. Started by the transformation, Harry took an involuntary step backward – and bumped into something – no, _someone_. There was a muffled sound, like someone cursing under their breath, and the sound of feet pelting through the heavy undergrowth. Harry looked back, but could see nothing but branches moving of their own accord. With a sinking feeling in his stomach Harry realized who had probably been listening as well: Malfoy, in his own Invisibility Cloak.

All three of them froze stock-still; Jon and Deirdre had both turned to the sounds in the undergrowth. Jon's wand was out in a moment and he said "_Decresco_," causing the bushes Harry, Ron and Hermione were standing behind to shrink to miniature size.

Jon couldn't see them, but he said, "Harry, I hope that's you. You may as well show yourself, if you're there."

Harry slowly pulled off the Cloak, revealing Ron, Hermione and himself. Jon sighed. "All three of you, then. Well, that's just great! What did you think you were going to find, following us here?"

But Hermione had questions of her own. "Deirdre, why would you want to come to Hogwarts, if you're a centaur? We thought centaurs didn't want anything to do with wizards!"

"You know very well that's not true," Deirdre objected, pawing the ground reflexively. "Firenze is at the school, teaching Divination, and there are other centaurs who are not afraid of interactions with humans."

"But you've been using a wand all this time," Hermione pointed out. "Centaurs aren't allowed wands."

"Centaurs aren't allowed wands _while they're with wizards_," Deirdre corrected her. "We make and use our own wands while we're with our own kind. _Your_ Ministry decreed, after centaurs refused to be ruled by them, that only wizards can use wands."

Several moments of silence passed. Harry finally broke it by asking, "What will you do now?"

"I don't know," Deirdre said unhappily. "I can't go back to the school, now that you know what I am."

"We don't have to tell anyone, you know," Ron pointed out.

"But _will_ you?" Deirdre asked.

"Not if you want to come back," Harry said. "We don't have any reason to keep you from going to school, if that's what you really want."

"I – I would like to finish my courses," Deirdre said. "And take the N.E.W.T. examinations. I would like to see how our education measures up against yours."

"I'm not sure what to think, if you're wanting to take N.E.W.T.s for fun," Ron said, sounding skeptical. He looked at Hermione. "But I guess I've already met someone who's like that, so –"

"Oh, get _out_, Ron!" Hermione said, giving him a shove.

But Deirdre was laughing now. "Well I don't think of it as fun, exactly, but it is something I would like to try."

"There's something you need to know," Harry said, remembering what had happened just before they revealed themselves. "I think Draco Malfoy was here in his Invisibility Cloak. That was the sound you heard – I bumped into him and he ran away."

"He probably ran back to tell everyone!" Deirdre said, sounding vexed. She stamped one of her hooves on the ground.

"Maybe," Jon said. "But McGonagall already knows you're a centaur, so running to complain to her won't get him anywhere."

"Malfoy doesn't work that way," Harry said grimly. "He'll write his mum, tell the other Slytherins, get their parents upset about having a centaur in the school. He's been looking for some way to get either or both of you since Christmas."

"So I've noticed," Jon said dryly. "We may as well go back, Deirdre, and see whether the rumors have started flying."

But Deirdre shook her head. "I want to stretch my legs a bit," she said. "It's not going to matter whether I go back now or in an hour, is it?"

"Probably won't," Jon replied. "But you should still be careful out here."

"Yes, Jon," Deirdre smiled, sounding a little condescending. "I've only lived in these woods all my life, you know. I'll see you in a while." She leaned down and kissed him, then turned and trotted off into the woods.

The four of them walked back toward the castle in silence. "Jon," Hermione finally said. "How long have you known –?"

"That Deirdre was a centaur? Since before Christmas. We were – well, we were hanging out together and one evening she took me out there into the forest and showed me." Jon looked at Hermione. "I think she just wanted someone to talk to about it and she trusted me, because I'd been helping her with some of her schoolwork."

"I don't know why she couldn't just attend openly," Hermione argued. "After all, we have Firenze teaching here – why can't we have a centaur student as well?"

"They might want that, someday," Jon said, nodding agreement. "I think part of the reason Deirdre came here was to test those waters a bit."

"Why else would she be here?" Ron wanted to know.

"To see her father, Firenze," Jon told him. "He'd been banished from the herd nearly two years ago, you know."

"Firenze is her _father_?" Harry said, though not really surprised. "I wondered why I kept seeing them talking together."

"Well," Jon said slowly. He seemed to be steeling himself to say something. "I think she is trying to work out an arrangement with the centaurs for Firenze to come back to the herd."

"That's a good thing, isn't it?" Hermione said, looking at Jon intently. "You don't sound very cheerful about it."

"I don't have a problem with it," Jon told her evenly. "Except that she's partly afraid that Voldemort is going to attack Harry at the school or something like that, and Firenze could get hurt."

"Hold on," Harry said, stopping and turning toward Jon. They were on the north side of the castle, almost due south from the school gates. "Why would she think Voldemort's going to attack me _here_?"

"Because that's what some of the centaurs think Voldemort's quest is – to take over Hogwarts. They know he went to school here, and that he tried to become a teacher here – twice. Since the Death Eaters invaded the school last year, they've been convinced that they're right."

Harry stared at Jon. "And _why_ is it you haven't you mentioned this to us before, then?"

"Because at this point it's nothing but pure speculation," Jon argued.

"The castle invaded and Professor Dumbledore _dead_ doesn't look very speculative to me!" Harry said angrily.

"That was a specific mission for Malfoy," Jon said. "And from what you've told me, Voldemort may not have expected him to succeed. It was more likely a way to punish his father, since Voldemort expected Dumbledore to kill Draco."

"But Dumbledore _is dead now_," Harry said, his anger still mounting. "Hogwarts has been more vulnerable than ever this year, thanks to that liberty rubbish the governors pushed through. Wait a minute," he said suddenly. "Could all this have been planned?"

They all looked at him, realizing what he meant. Jon looked down, frowning, and Ron and Hermione exchanged worried glances. "Think about it!" Harry continued. "If Voldemort faked his death using Neville as a pawn, and the governors, some of whom _may be Death Eaters_, got this liberty decree in place, then some students might really be Polyjuiced Death Eaters just waiting for him to order the attack."

"That might be," Hermione said reluctantly. "It seems far-fetched, but not impossible. But the decree is no longer active – it was canceled by Snape, who _you_ think is a Death Eater himself! So if there _are_ Death Eaters here, they now have no way to get bits of their victims for the Polyjuice Potion, thanks to one of their own. That just doesn't make sense."

That was a potential flaw, Harry saw with chagrin. "He might have canceled it after they got enough Death Eaters in the school," he speculated.

"No, more is always better when you're fighting battles, Harry," Jon said, shaking his head. "It's more reasonable that Snape was working _against_ Voldemort when he canceled liberty."

"_But he killed Professor Dumbledore_!" Harry shouted.

"And he had a letter explaining why, written by Dumbledore himself," Jon replied. "Harry, I'm not defending Snape, I'm just pointing out what arguments could be brought against you if you tried to accuse him as part of a conspiracy by Voldemort and his Death Eaters to capture Hogwarts. And you haven't even proven that Voldemort is alive yet."

"We know he's alive," Harry said, breathing very fast. "Because he _couldn't_ die, whatever Neville did or didn't do!"

"But the Ministry's been saying he's dead," Ron said. "Or at least, that he's – well, gone, I guess."

"Common sense should tell them that if Voldemort was able to come back once, he could do it again," Jon pointed out.

"You're asking for quite a bit from the Ministry if you want them to show some common sense," Harry said flatly. "I thought Scrimgeour might have changed when he stopped Umbridge framing us, but he hasn't done much of anything this year beyond that."

"The Order's been doing stuff, hasn't it?" Ron said, sounding rather alarmed now.

"They've been trying, I'm sure," Harry said, remembering his rare conversations with Lupin during the year. "And they've been working with the Ministry, but –" Harry looked at the rest of them. "But Dumbledore's dead now, and the new leader of the Order is a werewolf. The Order has _always_ operated outside Ministry control. Scrimgeour might be more afraid of Lupin and the Order of the Phoenix than he is of Voldemort and the Death Eaters!"

Ron looked astounded, and Hermione protested, "Harry, that can't be true! There are Aurors in the Order –"

"Moody's retired, and Tonks is a Hogwarts teacher now," Harry pointed out. "And Kingsley Shacklebolt has kept his connection to the Order a secret. At least, he did while Fudge was Minister, and last year when Scrimgeour took over."

"So where does this leave us?" Jon asked. "Where do we go from here?"

"Not sure," Harry said. "But at least I can find out one thing – where Malfoy is right now." He brought out his wand and, after looking to see that no one else was around, tapped the Marauder's Map ring, saying "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," then added, "Where is Draco Malfoy?"

The three-dimensional image of the castle formed and spun, taking them inward and downward into the dungeon where the Slytherin common room was located. There, seated in the crowded room off in a group of chairs by themselves were three figures labeled "Draco Malfoy," "Vincent Crabbe" and "Gregory Goyle." The figures were close together, as if they were huddled up and talking.

"That's it, then," Ron said dispiritedly. "He's letting Crabbe and Goyle in on his little secret."

"Maybe not," Hermione said, thinking. "If Malfoy was going to talk, he'd probably tell _all_ the other Slytherins, not just those two."

"He might be telling them to gather the others for a meeting," Jon said.

"There's already loads of them in the room right now!" Hermione pointed out.

"Well, that's true," Jon admitted, looking sheepish.

Harry tapped the ring again, saying "Mischief managed," and the image disappeared. "Whatever Malfoy does, we'll just have to be ready to deal with it. Come on," he said, starting toward the front of the castle and the front door.

However, instead of hearing rumors about Deirdre they heard – nothing. No one questioned them or asked about what they'd seen in the Forbidden Forest. Slytherins still gave them looks of loathing when they passed in the hallways, but there were no subtle smirks or knowing jeers.

"Maybe you were wrong about Malfoy being behind us," Ron suggested as he, Harry and Hermione sat studying in the common room that Friday evening. With N.E.W.T.s only three days away, Hermione was frantic to get in as much studying over the weekend as possible.

"No, I know what I heard," Harry said firmly. "When I backed into Malfoy, I heard him swear, then turn and run away under his Invisibility Cloak. I even saw some branches move when he brushed past them."

"Ron," Hermione said suddenly. "Will you _please_ put that book away?" Ron had gotten out his great-uncle's journal and was holding it inside his Charms textbook. "You need to keep studying your Protean Charm!"

"Al_right_," Ron said irritably. "I was just taking a break for a moment."

At that moment Jon walked into the common room and, seeing the three of them studying, walked over to them. "Have you seen Deirdre?" Hermione asked as he approached.

"Yes," Jon nodded. "She hasn't heard anything since she got back a few hours ago. It's as if nothing ever happened."

"Well, I can't say I'm not happy about that," Hermione said with a sigh of relief. "But it is a bit mystifying."

"Not really," Jon said, a hard edge in his voice. "Malfoy's probably waiting for a good moment to use the information. Although I'm not sure why, there's only a few weeks left before school's out for the summer."

"Before school's out forever," Ron said happily. "No more quills, no more books."

"No more teacher's dirty looks," Harry said, thinking of Snape.

Hermione looked rather put upon. To cover it, she asked, "Jon, would you like to study with us?"

"No, I'm pretty much good to go," Jon said airily.

"Not studying?" Hermione looked incredulous. "Are you _mental_?" When Jon looked at her with raised eyebrows she quickly apologized. "Sorry, I didn't mean to sound like that!"

"I know what you meant, Hermione," Jon said, chuckling. "But these tests aren't binding on me and I'll have my own final examinations next year at the Merlin Academy."

"But don't you want to put your best foot forward?" Hermione persisted.

"Oh, I will," Jon replied. "I just won't do it by 'cramming' – I'll just glance through the textbook on the subject being tested on the day before, when I have the time."

"How's that going to work?" Ron asked, skeptical. "How're you going to remember all this stuff unless you study as much as you can right before the test?"

"Well, for one thing," Jon said, sitting down at the table with them. "You shouldn't expect to just 'study right before the test' – that's why you have five years to get ready for your O.W.L.s, then two more for your N.E.W.T.s – so you have plenty of time to study _before_ the tests."

"Right," Hermione agreed, giving both Harry and Ron a stern look.

"Second," Jon continued. "Review is important, but to _review_ the material you have to _know_ the material first. Knowing the material on a test is mostly a matter of being able to easily recall information. That's why there are no Memory Charms to _put_ stuff in your head – they only help you remember or make you forget things. But only the Darkest Memory Charms _remove_ information from your brain – all the others just remove the recall mechanism."

"So why can't the Healers at St. Mungo's easily help people like say, Professor Lockhart, if they still have their memories?" Harry asked, intrigued by Jon's explanation.

"Because the brain is an amazingly complex organ," Jon said, "and everyone's experiences are unique. It's possible Lockhart will recall his past – though it's not a very good one to recall, from what you've said."

"You got that right!" Ron said emphatically.

"Third, it helps to enjoy the subject you're learning – or at least to want to learn it," Jon went on. "For example – Ron, you've been reading your great-uncle Archie's journal, haven't you?"

"Right," Ron said, holding up the book. Hermione looked away, rolling her eyes; she was not pleased to have their attention diverted back to it.

"Does he mention anything about the original Archimedes in the journal?" Jon asked.

"Yes," Ron answered quickly. "He was a Muggle in ancient Greece who lived about the time of Mopsus the Soothsayer."

"Does he say anything else about him?"

"Well," Ron paused for several seconds. "He says Archimedes was a very _smart_ Muggle for his time."

"Anything about the things he did while he was alive?"

"…No, not really," Ron said after considering a while.

"That might be important," Jon pointed out. "You should check some books on him in the Library."

"Well, I did," Ron said, warming up to the subject. "He's mentioned in a lot of the books about ancient Greek wizards."

"Some scholars think he was one of the inspirations for Arithmancy," Hermione noted, interested in spite of herself.

"But they don't really mention much about him," Ron finished.

"Did you look," Jon asked significantly, "in the _Muggle_ section?"

Ron looked nonplussed. "Oh, hell," he said, as if that were obvious now that Jon had mentioned it.

"Something for you to check out, then," Jon said. "I'm going to do some reading, up in my room." He turned to go.

"Wait a sec," Ron said. He opened his great-uncle's journal to a page near the back. "Does this make any sense to you?"

Jon looked at the page. Scrawled there in the middle of his notes was a drawing of a large circle with a line at the bottom, drawn at a tangent, with a small triangle touching it on the other side. He nodded in instant recognition at the image drawn there.

"That's a representation of one of his more famous quotes," he said. "Archimedes is supposed to have said once, 'Give me a place to stand, and I will move the Earth.' It was part of his statement about the power of the lever. It's usually drawn with Archimedes himself on the other end, as if he's actually moving the earth using a giant lever."

"I see," said Ron, now studying the drawing closely.

"Can we _please_ get back to Charms?" Hermione asked, sounding vexed. Jon waved and disappeared up the boys' staircase.

They spent most of the weekend studying in the Gryffindor common room, the Library, and sometimes just the odd corridor, wherever there was room to study. Every seventh-year in school was similarly absorbed in their books. Even Neville had given up being with Luna to study N.E.W.T.s. Harry wondered what career advice he'd gotten from McGonagall back in their fifth year; without Transfiguration, he couldn't hope for a career as an Auror, as his mum and dad had been. With his skill in Herbology, however, Harry wondered if Neville would want to be a Healer. He would be closer to his parents Frank and Alice, who were both in St. Mungo's, tortured into insanity by Bellatrix Lestrange and other Death Eaters.

He mentioned this to Ginny as they took a moment to chat, outside the Gryffindor common room, having chanced upon each other as Harry was going to get something from the Great Hall and Ginny was returning. Ginny was usually up to speed on most of the rumors and gossip circulating in the school.

"Can't," Ginny said unhappily. "You need an 'E' in a Transfiguration N.E.W.T."

"Oh," said Harry, "I forgot it needed Transfiguration as well as Charms."

"It's really a pity," Ginny said, sounding bitter. "Because Neville would probably make an excellent Healer, if he just had the grades in Transfiguration. Most of the interesting careers require a N.E.W.T. in it or an 'E' or better O.W.L."

"What do you think Neville's going to do after school, then?" Harry asked her.

"I don't think he has a clue, Harry," she said seriously. "For a while –" she stopped, grimacing.

"What?" said Harry. "Go on."

"Keep this to yourself, alright?" she said in a low voice. Harry nodded agreement. "For a while, I think Neville believed the Ministry would just give him a free ride into Auror training, because of what he did to Voldemort."

Harry stared at her. "That's insane," he finally said.

"I know that," she agreed. "But there you are. Anyway, he's been studying more these last few months – I think he finally realized he wasn't going anywhere if he waited for the Ministry to offer him something."

"Why would he even think something like that would happen?" Harry sounded outraged. "Because the Ministry got him to be their poster boy?"

"Probably," Ginny said, shaking her head at the thought, and they each went upon their way.


	32. N E W T S

Chapter 32

**N.E.W.T.S**

Monday morning of N.E.W.T.s finally arrived. Harry, Ron, Hermione and several other seventh-years queued up in the entrance hall after breakfast, along with Dean, Seamus, Neville, Lavender, Parvati, Jon and a host of other students from the other Houses: Ernie Macmillan, Justin Finch-Fletchley , Wayne Hopkins and Megan Jones from Hufflepuff; Parvati's sister Padma, Terry Boot, Michael Corner, and Lisa Turpin among the Ravenclaws; and Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson, and of course Draco Malfoy among the Slytherins. Harry noted without surprise that Crabbe and Goyle weren't among the students sitting for Charms N.E.W.T.s. Malfoy said nothing, but Harry caught him looking his way with a sort of satisfied smirk on his face.

The fifth-years were milling about as well with varying degrees of concentration, dread, or malaise on their faces. At about half-past nine the doors to the Great Hall opened and the fifth years were called forward; Harry could see, looking back into the Great Hall, that the four House tables had been replaced with a great many tables for one, just as during their fifth-year examinations. The fifth-years disappeared into the room and the double doors slowly shut, leaving the seventh-years alone. It was not much longer, however, before Professor Flitwick appeared and indicated that they should follow him.

Leading them into the corridor north of the entrance hall, they walked only a short distance before entering classroom 7, a rather large classroom (although much smaller than the Great Hall) that was arrayed with the same tables for one they'd used in their O.W.L.s. The tables were spaced a bit wider apart than in the Great Hall; they sat only four abreast. Harry expected that if they held their hands straight out none of their fingers would touch. At the front of the room was the teacher's desk, covered with additional quills, ink and extra rolls of parchment. Professor Flitwick waited until they had all been seated then faced the class.

"You're all aware, I'm sure," he said in his high, squeaky voice, "that there are powerful Anti-Cheating Charms placed on your examination papers, and that Auto-Answer quills, Self-Correcting Ink, and the like, are not permitted. I'm sure you've all done an admirable job of preparing for this test!" he finished, beaming at them.

Ron, two rows over and one ahead, glanced at Harry from the corner of his eye and looked upward toward the ceiling. Harry smiled slightly.

"Remember," Flitwick continued. "You have two hours for this examination, so if you can't answer a question straightaway, leave it and come back to it later – you never know when something else on the test may jog your memory," he added heartily. "Alright, and – begin," he said, turning over the hourglass sitting on the desk.

It was a grueling test. As well as questions about specific charms themselves, such as the Protean Charm (which Harry had expected to see), there were questions on wand techniques for charms, on verbal versus non-verbal spell wordings, and on determining the level of difficulty of a charm from its incantation, something Harry hadn't quite gotten the hang of during classes.

At the end of two hours, as the last grains of sand fell to the bottom of the hourglass, Professor Flitwick cheerfully announced, "Quills down, please! Now send your answers up to me, please." There was a final furious scribbling of a last few words, then everyone passed the parchment with their answers to the student in front of them, where they were collected at the front by Flitwick.

"Very good, very good," the Charms professor muttered, sorting through the handful of papers to check a few answers. "Ah, interesting!... Well, I daresay you're all ready for lunch, so have at it," and with an airy wave of his hand Flitwick dismissed them.

"So…what do you think?" Ron asked Harry as they walked back toward the Great Hall behind Hermione and Jon.

"It was a tough test," Harry admitted. "But I think I did pretty well on it."

"What did you answer for the three primary forms of the Protean Charm?" Hermione asked Jon.

"Direct transference, Conjuration and Transfigurmancy," Jon replied.

"I don't know if that last one will count," Hermione said doubtfully. "The correct term is 'Transfigurative Conjuration'."

"I actually added that as a footnote," Jon agreed. "I remembered the British usage after I'd written the American term but I didn't want to scratch out words on the test. It looks sloppy."

"Sloppy?" Ron said, his eyes widening. "I must've scratched out a couple dozen words on that test!"

"You won't be counted off, Ron," Hermione said gently, "or I would have warned you."

In the Great Hall they discovered that the four House tables were back for lunch. While Hermione and Jon swapped horror stories about the test ("I can't _believe_ they asked about the Shield Charm, we were supposed to know that for O.W.L.s!"), Harry and Ron enjoyed a satisfying meal of corned beef and cabbage and steak and kidney pies.

After lunch, the fifth-years were called into the small chamber off the Great Hall for their practical examinations; the seventh-years were then ushered into the entrance hall, where they were led up the main staircase and down a seldom-traveled corridor and through a doorway into a long, windowless classroom divided into three sections. The center section held a number of chairs for students to wait until called for their practical examinations, while the other two sections were where the actual examinations took place.

As before, Professors Marchbanks and Tofty were administering the Charms practicals. Professor Marchbanks, a tiny, stooped witch, looked much the same as Harry remembered from two years before; though if possible, her face was even more lined. Professor Tofty, in his pince-nez, was as bald as ever, and seemed to be moving a bit more slowly than the last time he was at Hogwarts.

When his name was called, Harry found himself with Padma, Parvati and Dean awaiting examination with Professor Marchbanks. Dean and Harry swapped nervous smile, and Padma gave him a cheerful nod; glancing at Parvati, however, Harry saw that she seemed very tense – she was looking at the ceiling, forcing herself to breath slowly, through her mouth, as if to force herself to calm down. "Nervous?" Harry whispered, leaning over to her.

"A bit," she whispered back. "I'm just nervous about meeting Professor Marchbanks."

"Haven't you met her before?" Harry asked.

"Yes, but all my individual practicals were with Professor Tofty," she replied. "This will be the first time I've actually talked to her. I've wanted to for years – she's the number one Wizarding Examiner – I just didn't wish it could've been in different circumstances. You know?" Harry nodded. Now she had _him_ wondering what meeting Professor Marchbanks would be like.

Pansy Parkinson emerged from the examination area with her lips set and thin – apparently her practical hadn't gone as well as she'd wanted, and Padma's name was called. She got up and with a glance at her twin sister, disappeared into the small room, reappearing several minutes later with a smile. Parvati was called in, and she whispered to Harry as she got up, "Wish me luck?"

"You'll do great," he told her. "But good luck anyway." Smiling delightedly, Parvati entered the room. She reappeared a few minutes later with her smile intact, waving to both Dean and Harry as she hurried to find her sister.

"Dean Thomas," Marchbanks ancient voice called next, and Dean looked over at Harry in surprise. "Potter" came before "Thomas" in the order Marchbanks had been using up to this point.

"D'you think she forgot you?" he asked, standing and looking at the examination room uncertainly." Should I tell her?"

"Don't point it out," Harry said. "She'll see me when she comes out for the next lot, if she's forgotten." Somehow, Harry didn't' think that she had. Dean disappeared into the room.

He emerged several minutes later, looking happy, and gave Harry a double thumbs-up gesture, which Harry returned as Dean left the room. Harry was now the last person left from his group waiting for Marchbank's examination.

"Harry Potter," Marchbanks called, and Harry walked into the room. She was there, a small but regal figure waiting for him at a small table with two chairs and several small objects upon it.

"Sit down, Potter, sit down," she said, rather loudly. Harry thought she'd been going slightly deaf the last time he'd seen her at the school – she spoke more loudly than she needed to. "Wondering whether I forgot you, weren't you?"

"Well –" Harry wasn't sure how to respond.

She went on as if he'd said nothing. "Not to worry, then, not to worry…I've been meaning to talk to you for some time, you know."

"You have?" Harry said, but he could guess, even now, what the subject would be. The very first time he'd seen her, Professor Marchbanks had mentioned that she'd known Albus Dumbledore since he was a student at Hogwarts.

"Yes," she said, now looking closely at him. "I've been told that you were one of the last people to see Professor Dumbledore alive. Is that true?"

Harry nodded.

"And that you'd been somewhere that evening with him, before the two of you returned to the school and he was killed. Is that true as well?" she continued. Her voice had become even quieter than before.

Harry nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

"And that," Marchbanks went on, "thus far you've refused to reveal to anyone – your teachers, even the Minister of Magic – where you were or what you were doing. Correct?"

Harry nodded once again.

The old witch smiled at him. "Good," she said. "Albus was right about you, then. Right, then." She suddenly became businesslike. "Let's get started, then. If you'll –"

"Ma'am? Excuse me," Harry interrupted her. "I don't understand. Why did you ask me those questions? I know you knew Professor Dumbledore –"

"I did indeed," Marchbanks said loudly. "Nearly a hundred years! He was the most amazing young man I'd ever met, when I tested him for his Charms and Transfiguration N.E.W.T.s. He was always the most amazing man I've ever known." Marchbanks sighed. "I'm almost sorry I outlived him." She looked into Harry's eyes. "Forgive an old woman's foolishness, Harry. I hoped these last few minutes with you would be a way I could share a last moment with him, in a way.

"Albus confided in me, from time to time," she went on. "He was always proud of what you've become, in spite of how things were stacked against you, Harry. He knew how hard things have been, what you've been forced to endure, to get to this point."

"I've only done what I've needed to do, to try and make things right again," Harry said slowly. "For myself, and for my friends – I've just tried to make the right choice."

"Exactly," she said, leaning forward intently. "That's what Albus always found so special about you – the choices you've made, in spite of what they've cost you."

Professor Marchbanks leaned back in her chair, steepling her fingers before her as she chose her next words. "Albus had been engaged in some very important work, for quite some time, Harry. I'm sure you know about that."

"I do," he said, nodding. Unconsciously he had copied her gesture as he listened to her speak.

"In fact, I daresay that you know more about what he's been up to these past few years than any living person," Marchbanks said, looking at him gravely. "I can tell you, such knowledge signifies a very high level of trust on Albus's part – he was, in his way, a very private man. I wanted you to know that."

Harry nodded. He thought he understood. "Let's begin, shall we?" Professor Marchbanks said.

A few minutes later Harry left the examination area, returning to the Gryffindor common room, where he, Hermione and Ron had agreed to meet after practicals. Giving the password to the Fat Lady ("Clabbert!"), Harry entered to find Hermione already studying for the Transfiguration N.E.W.T. the next day.

"How did it go?" Hermione asked, as Harry sat down beside her. He didn't go into the conversation they'd had beforehand; it seemed too personal to tell anyone else just yet. Professor Marchbanks had examined him quite thoroughly in Charms, Harry said. He'd done well, he thought, even though he had not quite brought off the Protean Charm as well as he'd hoped – even though Marchbanks had asked him to perform the most difficult version of it, the Transfigurative Conjuration Protean Charm, where a transfiguration of the target object would cause the same effect in another object.

"Professor Tofty asked me to do that one too," Hermione said, putting down her Transfiguration text. "I've been practicing it for the past few days."

Harry smiled, amused. "Of course you have."

A few minutes later the portrait swung open again and Ron entered, looking rather fussed. He flopped down in another chair beside them and moaned, "Who the _hell_ would have expected them to ask us to do the Transfigurative Conjuration Charm?!"

Hermione patted Ron sympathetically on the arm while Harry covered his mouth to avoid laughing out loud.

The rest of that week's N.E.W.T.s proceeded uneventfully, beyond the usual night-before anxiety while studying the next day's subject, especially Thursday night, when Harry and Ron left Hermione to study for her Ancient Runes N.E.W.T. on Friday while they swapped stories with Dean, Seamus, Neville and Jon over bottles of butterbeer left by Dobby under Harry's bed.

"I dunno what Professor Marchbanks seemed more surprised at," Dean said, recalling his practical in Defense Against the Dark Arts, the only N.E.W.T. all of them had taken, earlier that day. "That I produced a full Patronus, or that I was able to use a Shield Charm." Dean's Patronus was a red fox, though of course it was glittering and silvery in appearance.

"She was pretty impressed with my progress," Neville said quietly, but Harry could sense the pride in his voice. "Gran had told her details about the fight at the Ministry of Magic two years ago, and she wanted me to show her some of what I'd done. Did she have you show her your Patronus, Harry?"

"No," Harry said, "Professor Tofty had me do that during O.W.L.s, though."

"Oh, that's right!" Neville said, impressed himself now. "I'm glad we had a chance for you to show us all that stuff in the D.A., it really made a difference for both tests."

Harry felt that most of his N.E.W.T.s had gone well. They had already taken four – Charms, Transfiguration, Herbology and Defense Against the Dark Arts. As with O.W.L.s, they would not learn of the results until sometime in July. With only five N.E.W.T. subjects, Harry and Ron both only had one subject left – Potions. Hermione would be taking her Ancient Runes N.E.W.T. on Friday; her Arithmancy N.E.W.T. was scheduled for Thursday of next week, which gave her plenty of time to study after Potions.

Later that evening, however, in bed, Harry began to ponder the loose ends left dangling while they bored through their N.E.W.T.s during the past week. He had hardly had a chance to think about getting back into the Room of Requirement, to have a look at the boxes Ron and Jon had described from the trip to Gringotts that Harry couldn't even remember.

And there was still the problem of whether Voldemort would actually attack Hogwarts. In the past he had found ways to lure Harry elsewhere, once Professor Dumbledore had increased the magical protections on the school to prevent Voldemort from coming here. In spite of that, Draco Malfoy had found a way to bring Death Eaters into the school. Now, however, with the Vanishing Cabinet in the Room of Requirement destroyed, that entry was denied him.

Friday after breakfast, after seeing Hermione off to her Ancient Runes examination, Harry and Ron retired back to the common room for a day of well-deserved rest and recreation, bringing out Ron's wizard chess set for a game or two rather than studying for Potions, to give their "brains a chance to cool down," as Ron put it. Most of the other Gryffindor seventh- and fifth-years were in the common room as well, studying or talking or in general simply recuperating from the week-long battery of tests. Very few other than Hermione had taken Ancient Runes, so both classes were nearly complete.

By the middle of the second game, however, Ron appeared to have lost interest. His chessmen had become rather petulant, sometimes refusing to take Harry's pieces if it looked like they themselves would be captured the next turn. Soon Ron was down by a knight and a castle, and his queen and bishops were becoming quite alarmed.

"Where's your head today?" One of the bishops scolded him. "Can't you see he's setting up a fork with that knight, to take the queen?"

"Quiet, you!" Harry said, mildly annoyed. "It's taken six years for me to get this good – don't go helping him now!"

"He's right, though," Ron said, looking a bit sheepish. "Once you have my queen, the game's over anyway. I resign."

"About time," the queen said, stiffly. "We were _not_ amused."

"So, what's next?" Harry asked, as they put away the chessboard. "Fancy a game of Exploding Snap?"

"Well," Ron said, trying not to sound too uninterested. "Actually, I thought of some studying I ought to get to, before it – er – gets too late."

"Before Hermione gets back, you mean," Harry said, guessing what was on Ron's mind. "You want to check out something in your great-uncle's journal, don't you?"

"Well –"

"I'm not fussed," Harry said with a shrug. "Really. I have some stuff I need to do, too."

"Okay," Ron said, sounding relieved that Harry seemed to understand. "If I don't see you before, we'll meet downstairs for dinner. Okay?"

"Okay." Leaving Ron, Harry left the common room and headed toward the one place he wanted to be right now but couldn't – the Room of Requirement. Before he got to the corridor, however, he heard voices coming from in where door normally appeared – voices he recognized: Malfoy, and Goyle!

Harry stopped, pulled his Invisibility Cloak out of his book bag, and threw it over himself. Creeping quietly around the corner, he saw the two Slytherins in front of the tapestry, Malfoy pacing up and down in a towering rage as the door refused to appear.

"What the hell has gone wrong with this room?!" Malfoy was snarling. He pounded the wall where the door normally appeared with his fists. "What's Potter done now?"

_For once I wish I knew_, Harry thought.

"Maybe he's inside," Goyle suggested, dully eyeing the wall.

"Of course he's not inside, you stupid git," Malfoy snapped. He held up a Galleon. "Why do you think I had Crabbe stay downstairs, in the entrance hall? Everybody's name is still showing solid on the Naming Scroll – he'd show up as gone if he were inside."

Harry had to admit, that was a smart move on Malfoy's part. He was using the Naming Scroll just like Harry used the Marauder's Map.

Malfoy began pacing again. "I wish I knew what happened to that damned house-elf! I'd ask that old bag of bones what was going on!" Harry wondered if by "house-elf" Malfoy meant Dobby, who now lived here, at Hogwarts and worked in the kitchens; Harry hadn't seen him since… well, actually, he hadn't seen Dobby in quite some time, if he didn't count the story Ron and Jon had told, since Harry didn't remember any of it.

"Let's go," Malfoy said suddenly, walking Harry's way. "I've got to go think about this for a bit." Harry retreated around the corner, pushing himself flat against the way. Malfoy walked right by, missing him by less than a foot. Goyle hurried after him. "Potter's going to be sorry I've got to go to this much trouble!" He and Goyle disappeared around a corner; Harry listened to their footsteps fade into the distance.

Harry removed the Invisibility Cloak and walked into the corridor. He tried to imagine what he could do that might actually be useful; there didn't seem to be any way _anyone_ could get inside, if even Malfoy could open the Room of Requirement. Had something happened to it?

And the house-elf Malfoy had mentioned – had he referred to Dobby? Dobby had belonged to the Malfoys, years ago, until Harry helped him win his freedom. But perhaps Dobby still had some connection with Malfoy. "Dobby?" Harry said tentatively into the air.

_Crack_.

The house-elf appeared wearing an odd assortment of clothes: the maroon jumper Harry last remembered seeing him in, three or four woolen hats, and green and red socks (that is, one was green and one was red, Harry noted). "Harry Potter," Dobby squeaked in his high-pitched voice. "Dobby wondered when you would call him again, yes Dobby did!"

"Hello, Dobby," Harry said. "Um –" Now how should he approach this? Harry didn't remember anything about his last meeting with Dobby other than what Ron and Jon had told him occurred. "How've you been since then?"

Dobby bowed low again, his long nose nearly touching the floor in front of him. "Dobby is honored for you to ask, Harry Potter! I have been awaiting your orders, as you instructed me to."

"Er –" Harry hesitated. "Good. So…what were those orders again, then?"

Dobby blinked his tennis-ball sized eyes, looking downcast. "Does Harry Potter think Dobby has forgotten? Dobby would _never_ forget what Harry Potter has asked him to do!" He looked rather on the verge of crying at the very thought.

"I didn't mean it that way!" Harry said quickly. "I just … wanted … to be … _sure_ we were clear on what they were."

"Dobby is to enter the Come-and-Go Room and get the three boxes placed there by Harry Potter, then return them to him," the house-elf said, as if reciting a lesson. "Harry Potter has but to give Dobby the word."

"And if I wanted you to do it right now?" Harry asked, wishing very much to see what was in those three boxes, and hoping his speculations were correct.

"Then Dobby would do it now," he said simply.

"Then the word is given, Dobby!" Harry said, waving at the blank wall.

Dobby looked at the wall, then back at Harry, expectantly.

After several seconds had passed with Dobby doing nothing to enter the Room of Requirement, Harry said, a trifle impatiently, "Well, Dobby?"

"Dobby is waiting for Harry Potter to give him the word," Dobby said, looking at him, his tennis-ball sized eyes blinking anxiously.

"I've just given you the word, Dobby! What's the – oh." Harry suddenly realized what Dobby meant. "You mean, I have to tell you a _particular_ word before you can do it, right?"

"Yes, Harry Potter," Dobby said, looking unhappy. "Dobby cannot enter the Come-and-Go Room until Harry Potter gives him the word to do it!"

Harry cursed silently to himself. _Why can't I remember how to get in there_?!

Sensing Harry's frustration, Dobby looked anguished himself, then suddenly turned and, before Harry could stop him, ran headfirst into the wall. He bounced, landing on his backside, then stood, shaking his head comically. Before he could run into the wall again, though, Harry grabbed him.

"Please don't do that any more, Dobby!"

"But Dobby must punish himself for not being able to obey Harry Potter," Dobby said woozily, holding his forehead, still trying to run toward the wall.

"That doesn't even make sense," Harry said, shaking his head. "But please don't do it any more, okay?"

"Dobby will try to obey Harry Potter," the house-elf said, and stopped trying to wriggle free of Harry's grasp. Cautiously, Harry let him go. Dobby looked up at him.

"When will Harry Potter give Dobby the word?" Dobby asked.

_I wish I knew_, Harry thought to himself. Aloud, he said, "I'll let you know, Dobby."

"Dobby will be ready, Harry Potter!" Dobby said eagerly. "Dobby has told everyone he will never fail to obey an order from the famous Harry Potter!"

"Dobby," Harry said, remembering something Malfoy had said earlier. "Have you been talking to Draco Malfoy lately?"

Dobby looked shocked. "Draco Malfoy is a very bad boy! Dobby doesn't want anything to do with him! He –" Dobby looked suddenly toward the wall, and Harry quickly grabbed him before he could run toward it again.

"Okay, okay!" Harry said. "I believe you – you haven't been talking to Malfoy. I just wondered, because I heard him say something about talking to a house-elf –"

Harry's eyes suddenly widened. What had Malfoy said? _I'd ask that old bag of bones what was going on_. "Dobby," he said quietly. "Do you know if Kreacher ever talked to Malfoy?"

Dobby's eyes widened with horror. "What has Dobby done?" he wailed. "Dobby has been boastful about his friendship with Harry Potter, telling the other house-elves about your exploits outside the castle –"

"What?!" Harry said, shocked. "How d'you know about that?"

"Do not be angry with Dobby, Harry Potter!" Dobby pleaded, actually clutching at Harry's robe in abject terror. "Dobby wanted to know what great things Harry Potter and his friends were doing! All of the house-elves think highly of you! Except for – Kreacher," Dobby finished morosely. "Kreacher would never say anything nice about his master, except that it was nice you didn't order him about, so he did not have to find ways to disobey you."

"That's nice to know," Harry muttered dryly.

"But now Dobby has betrayed Harry Potter to his former master! Oh, shame and ruin upon Dobby!" The house-elf started to dash himself against the wall again, but Harry caught him by the arm, restraining him. "Please, Harry Potter! Dobby deserves to be punished!"

"Rubbish," Harry said forcefully. "You didn't betray me – Kreacher did. You didn't know what he'd do with the things you said about me."

"But –"

"But nothing, Dobby," Harry said flatly. "Just forget it happened. And be ready for when I send you the word to retrieve those boxes." _If I can ever figure out what it is_, he added to himself.

"Dobby will, Harry Potter! Yes indeed, Dobby will!" Dobby bowed deeply, then disappeared with a loud _crack_.

Sunday began the final week of N.E.W.T.s, but Harry and Ron's tests were all done except one: Potions, on Monday. Professor Slughorn's class had been unremarkable this year, especially compared to the previous one, in which Harry had unknowingly used the advanced potion-making textbook that had originally been owned by Severus Snape when he attended Hogwarts, decades before. He'd been brilliant last year, impressing Slughorn who, it turned out, had also taught his mother, Lily Evans, when she'd attended Hogwarts the same at the same time as Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Snape and his father, James Potter.

This year had been much harder, partly because he didn't have the book, and partly because Slughorn was no longer so easily impressed with him as before, but Harry had realized that neither situation had been particularly good for him in the long run. Last year, he'd come to expect quick and easy solutions to problems he encountered in Potions class just by opening the book and reading what the Half-Blood Prince (Snape's somewhat fanciful name for himself while at Hogwarts) had done. He'd also seen that luck, which he'd had an abundance of last year due to the Potions book and to the Felix Felicis potion he'd won at the beginning of the school year in his first Potions class, could be fickle. Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville and Luna had all survived the Death Eaters' invasion of the school last year because he'd left them the rest of his lucky potion, but Bill Weasley had been attacked and mutilated by Fenrir Greyback. Being lucky was one thing; trusting in luck, however, was something Harry no longer felt he could do.

Harry had therefore resolved to prepare for the Potions test as thoroughly as possible. He and Ron had persuaded both Hermione and Jon to help them, although both of them also had the Arithmancy N.E.W.T. on Thursday. "We still have two days to study for Arithmancy," Hermione had said.

The afternoon passed without incident, though it seemed to take forever before dinner time arrived and they could break to eat. Although Hermione and Jon had very different ideas on how Potions should be approached, and neither of them appeared likely to budge on the correctness of their method, they were able to go through the points of advanced potion-making coming to loggerheads with each other.

When they returned after dinner, however, the study session turned into something of a competition between them as Hermione and Jon discussed individual potions and debated the effectiveness of various methods of preparation. Jon had already shown many practical applications of his knowledge in Potions class while Hermione was well-versed in a wide range of different potions. Harry and Ron both sat, listening in fascinated silence, while the two debated their viewpoints. It was certainly more interesting than studying, even if most of the questions they put to each other were unlikely to be on the Potions examination.

"Potions always comes down to the correct formulation," Hermione insisted, trying to cap the disagreement they'd been contending with over ingredients versus preparation.

"I agree, I'm not disputing that, Hermione," Jon argued. "I'm only saying that some ingredients call for alternate methods of preparation in certain circumstances."

"Such as?" she challenged.

"The most obvious example is whether to cut or crush sopophorous beans when adding them to a potion," Jon replied. "Crushing is useful when you want a quick infusion, but cutting may be called for when the potion requires a longer stewing period."

Harry glanced over to where Ron had been sitting, to comment on his own experience with sopophorous beans, only to discover that he was gone. "Where'd Ron go?" he asked aloud.

Hermione turned, startled. "He was there a few minutes ago," she said uncertainly.

"He left a few minutes ago with a scrap of parchment in his hand," Jon said. "I don't think he wanted to disturb the conversation we were having."

They were still wondering where he'd gotten off to a few minutes later when Ron reappeared through the portrait-hole, taking his seat at the table and resuming studying as if he'd never been gone. Harry, Hermione and Jon were all staring at him, however, and after a few seconds he looked up at them. "What?" he asked, his eyes wide.

"Ron, where were you just now?" Hermione asked at once.

"Just stepped out for a minute," Ron said, trying to affect a casual tone though it was obvious to Harry he was extremely nervous about something. "You were all busy having your little debate, I didn't even think you'd notice I was gone."

"But where did you _go_?" Hermione persisted.

"Just out," Ron said again, a little rougher this time. "Don't worry, I didn't go have a drink with Romilda Vane or anything."

At the mention of Romilda Vane Hermione's face went stony. "Fine," she said, picking up her books and throwing them into her book bag. "Have your little secret, if you want. I'll finish studying on my own. Talk to you later Harry, Jon." And she stalked off out of the common room.

Harry sighed in exasperation. He'd finally learned to recognize that, when Ron didn't want to tell Hermione something, he'd pick a fight with her so she'd leave him alone for a while. "So where were you?" he asked, wondering if Ron would confide in him while Jon was present.

But Ron had nothing to say to Harry, either. "Blimey, can't I even leave the room for a minute without everybody wondering what mysterious stuff I've been up to?" he snorted, rising as well and throwing his books in his own bookbag. "I need to take a break anyway. I'll talk to you later, Harry. Jon." And Ron was gone as well, up the boys' staircase.

"That was pretty weird," Jon said, looking around after Ron had departed. "I thought those two were getting along pretty well again."

"It varies," Harry said flatly. "I can't believe Ron didn't want to tell me where he'd been."

"The Owlery," Jon said. "I caught a whiff of owl droppings when he came back in the room." That was strange, Harry thought; Ron had sat right next to him when he returned, but Harry hadn't smelled anything like that.

"Who could he be sending a letter to?" Harry wondered aloud.

Jon shrugged. "A more important question might be, why wouldn't he tell you or Hermione?"

Harry remained silent. It felt like Jon was being critical of Ron in some way, but Harry couldn't deny the point he'd made. He began putting his books back into his book bag.

"Not much point in continuing to study," he said to Jon. "I don't feel like I could cram another fact about Potions into my head if I tried, anyway." Harry went up to his dormitory, where he found Ron pretending to be asleep.

_Fine with me_, Harry thought to himself as he silently prepared for bed. He really _was_ tired enough not to care whether Ron wanted to talk to him tonight or not. Sooner or later, he knew, Ron was come round. Sliding into bed, Harry fell almost immediately asleep.

The following morning, Monday, Harry and Ron both avoided each other's gaze as they prepared for their final day of N.E.W.T.s. Making their way back to the Great Hall, they found Hermione sitting across from Dean, Seamus, and Jon as all of them discussed the upcoming examination. "Hey, Harry, Ron. Ready for Potions this morning?"

"Well, ready or not, it's here," Ron mumbled as he and Harry sat down on either side of Hermione and began eating breakfast.

"So, what do you reckon, Harry?" Seamus asked him.

"About what?" Harry asked, digging into the scrambled eggs he'd just piled onto his plate.

"What potion we'll get in practical," Dean elaborated before Seamus could answer.

"I thought Professor Marchbanks would probably assign _Veritaserum_," Hermione said, turning to Harry. "It can be brewed in less than two hours if the proper ingredients are available. It's also a bit tricky to do, which makes it a good N.E.W.T. practical."

"I thought it would be cool if we did _Amortentia_," Dean said with a grin.

"And I think they'll assign the Euphoria Elixer," Seamus said. "So we won't be tempted to nick any of it for ourselves."

"Oh, I dunno," Harry said, half to himself. "I could use a bit of euphoria right now."

"Whadjda say, Harry?" Ron asked through a mouthful of oatmeal.

"Nothing."

After breakfast everyone vacated the Great Hall so it could be prepared for fifth-year O.W.L.s, who then marched back in, the double doors closing behind them. Sometime later, Professor Slughorn, looking rather disheveled, as if he had dressed quickly and carelessly, appeared at the north door of the entrance hall and beckoned them into classroom 7, where they'd sat for their other examinations.

"Everyone find a seat, please," Slughorn said, setting his briefcase heavily down on the teacher's desk at the front of the room. As before, the room was filled with tables for one; upon each one sat an examination test and answer sheet. "I trust you've heard enough about Anti-Cheating spells and the use of proscribed quills, Remembralls, and the like, to be well acquainted with that speech, so I shan't bore you with it again. Remember that it is still in effect."

Malfoy slouched into the room at the last moment, his face a mask of cheerful deference to Slughorn, who nodded curtly. "Step lively, Mr. Malfoy, step lively. We don't want you missing any of your allotted time from the examination period."

"He'll need it," a voice near the back said, and the classroom chuckled, including Harry, who thought the voice sounded like Dean's.

Slughorn didn't smile although he made no effort to chastise whoever had made the remark. Casting a venomous glance Dean's way, Malfoy then turned and looked toward Harry, sneering. "Good luck, Potter," he said, then turned back to the front of the class. "Ready, Professor," he said, all cheerful innocence once again.

Harry frowned. It was unlike Malfoy to say something like that to him, without some ulterior motive.

"Alright, then," Slughorn said, and removed his wand from his cloak. "Begin." He flicked it at the hourglass, which immediately turned over, starting the sands flowing into the bottom. "You have two hours."

Everyone immediately began writing on their answer sheets. Harry was staring at the first question, _Name the ingredients used in the Aging Potion, and the recommended simmering time for a potion that will age the imbiber one year_, when there was a cough across the room. Looking over, he saw Malfoy coughing into his fist. It brought to mind, quite unexpectedly, the image of Dolores Umbridge clearing her throat ("_hem, hem_") to deliberately attract attention. Malfoy stopped coughing and Harry resumed his examination, writing down the ingredients and calculating the simmering time based on the formula of one hour per month of aging.

The second question, _Which of the following is _not_ an ingredient for any love potion? (a) frozen Ashwinder eggs, (b) rosemary (c) asphodel_, was easy enough, and Harry marked off (c), knowing asphodel was more closely associated with death than with infatuation or obsession.

Malfoy suddenly coughed again, more softly this time, and Harry's eyes flicked automatically toward him in annoyance. No one else had glanced his way, and Harry had begun to glance away when he saw Malfoy tip his head back slightly, then rubbed his fist across his lips, as if wiping them clean. His fist slipped down and into his robe pocket, then came out unfolded a moment later.

Very suspicious behavior, Harry thought, but knowing Malfoy, he was probably baiting Harry into making a scene about it. The Anti-Cheating spells would have caught him by now if he were up to something. Malfoy, a small smile now on his lips, had begun writing on his own answer sheet. With a small shrug, Harry resumed his as well.

Two hours later, as the last sands of the hourglass dropped into the bottom bulb, Professor Slughorn intoned, "Everyone, quills down. Hand your answer sheets to the front, please."

Once he had collected their answers, Slughorn gave the class a cheerful wave and said, "Everyone have a good lunch. And good luck on your practical!" Everyone headed for the doors.

"How'd you do, d'you think?" Ron asked Harry as they entered the entrance hall.

"Fine, I figure," Harry said. "Not as difficult as I'd expected, except for a few there at the end."

"I thought it was rather a lark," drawled a voice behind them; Harry and Ron turned to see Malfoy smirking at them.

"Sure you did," Ron said scornfully. "More likely, you'll end up with a 'T' for your Potions N.E.W.T.s, Malfoy."

"Oh, I rather doubt if I will," Malfoy replied smugly. "You, on the other hand, should be so lucky."

Ron made a sound of disgust. "Come on, Harry," he said, turning away. "Just ignore him.

But before Harry could follow suit, Malfoy reached into his pocket and retrieved a small object, then tossed it to Harry, who caught it automatically. "Hope your luck was as good as mine during the examination, Potter," he said, laughing, then turned and walked away.

Glaring after Malfoy until he disappeared into the Great Hall, Harry turned his attention to the small glass phial. It was rather small and thin, and would easily fit into the palm of his hand. _Or into an enclosing fist_, Harry suddenly realized. He hurried to catch up with Ron and Hermione, who had gone ahead into the Great Hall as well.

At the Gryffindor table, Harry showed the phial to them and Jon, who was sitting with them, saying, "I think Malfoy drank something from this just as we started taking the Potions examination."

"He couldn't have," Hermione objected. "The Anti-Cheating spells would have stopped him."

"I watched him palm something," Harry insisted. "It looked like he was drinking, then he put his hand into his pocket afterwards. He tossed this to me after the examination, like he was taunting me."

"Maybe that's what he _is_ doing," Hermione suggested. "Pretending like he drank something to make you suspicious. If he'd _really_ tried to drink a potion, he would have been caught. Every teacher sets up spells to prevent cheating during the examination of their subject."

"Is it possible Slughorn didn't?" Harry hypothesized. "He didn't seem very alert this morning."

"It's true, he didn't look very happy to be there," Hermione conceded. "But it would be easy to go back and check the room."

"Or ask Slughorn," Ron added.

"I don't think Slughorn will 'fess up to not putting the proper spells on the classroom, Ron," Harry said dryly.

"I know the spells are there," Hermione said, "because I checked before we started."

"You checked?" Jon said, smiling. "That's very honest of you, Hermione."

"Well, I am a prefect, after all," Hermione said diffidently. "I'm not supposed to let _anyone_ cheat."

"Let's check the bottle, then," Jon said, holding out his hand. Harry passed him the phial and Jon made several passes over it with his wand. "Nothing," he said after each pass. "Nothing. Nothing. Nothing."

"That's a whole lot of nothing," Ron said sourly.

"But a strange kind of nothing," Jon said, now looking closely at the phial. "Either this bottle has never been used to store any magical potion, or there is some kind of countercharm keeping me from detecting any residue of whatever's been in it."

Lunch arrived and everyone began getting something to eat. Harry, however, sat looking at the bottle until Hermione finally put some steak and kidney pie on his plate along with some buttered bread and a cold glass of pumpkin juice, saying, "Harry, you need to concentrate on taking your Potions practical – Malfoy's little game can wait a few hours!"

Harry picked at his pie, knowing she was right but still wishing he could figure out what Malfoy had done. Or maybe Malfoy was just messing with him, like Hermione had suggested. Either way, Harry didn't much care for it.

After lunch, the seventh-years gathered once again in the entrance hall to wait for the Wizarding Examination Authority people to take them to their practical. Professor Marchbanks, the woman who had tested them for their O.W.L. practical in Potions appeared and led them down the doorway to the left of the entrance hall's main staircase to dungeon five. There they found a cauldron, a set of scales and other equipment set up for each of them.

"You'll find your assigned potion in the folder with each cauldron," Professor Marchbanks said, rather loudly. "I think you'll find it an interesting one to brew. The ingredients you'll need are in the storage cabinets to your left. And I should warn you, we had a rather new wizard labeling them – you may find that some of the labels are incorrect."

With a wave of her wand the hourglass on the teacher's desk spun end-for-end. "You may begin."

Opening his folder, Harry found a piece of parchment with the directions for preparing _Veritaserum_. He glanced over at Hermione, who was looking at her piece of parchment with a satisfied smile.

The uncertainty of the ingredients made for an interesting practical, since each one had to be verified visually or by smell. At the end of two hours, however, Harry's cauldron was bubbling with a clear, odorless liquid with the correct consistency for properly-made Veritaserum.

"Step away from your cauldrons, please," Professor Marchbanks said at the end of two hours. "The examination is over." Harry handed in his sample flask and joined the other seventh-years in the corridor leading back to the entrance hall.

"Well, you were right," Ron said to Hermione as they reached the top of the staircase. "The practical was for _Veritaserum_."

"Now aren't you glad we went over it a dozen times this weekend, Ron?"

"Not really – I mean, _thanks_, Hermione."

Back in the common room, Harry and Ron both flopped, relieved, into a pair of comfortable loungers. "Well, that's that," Ron said. "Now it's all over except for the end-of-year feast."

"Not _completely_ over," Hermione sniffed. "Some of us still have a few N.E.W.T.s left to take."

"Just Arithmancy, right?" Harry asked, baiting her a bit.

"Right," Hermione conceded, "but it's –"

"The most_ difficult subject_ –" Harry interjected.

"The world has ever seen!" Ron finished dramatically.

Hermione stared balefully at them. "Right. See if I ever help either of you with school work again!"

"That would be a much worse threat," Ron pointed out. "If we _had_ any more school work."

"With _anything_ then," she said crossly, and with a petulant toss of her hair Hermione spun and stalked away from them up the girl's staircase. Neither Ron nor Harry regarded her threat as anything more than a consequence of the foul mood she normally got in while tests were going on.

There was something Harry wanted to check out alone, so he excused himself, saying he would return shortly, and left the common room. Before traveling very far, however, he availed himself of a deserted corridor to activate the Marauder's Map to find out where Professor Slughorn was currently located. It was possible that he could be in another Potion class, as the other years were not excused from their classes during O.W.L.s or N.E.W.T.s, or even in his own personal residence within the castle, but there was a figure labeled "Horace Slughorn" shown seated in his office when Harry asked where he was. Deactivating the Map, he set out for Slughorn's office.

Arriving, he knocked on the door and after several seconds, Slughorn's voice replied, "Come in, Harry m'boy." Harry entered and found the Potions Master seated behind his desk, just as the Marauder's Map had placed him. Slughorn took the pipe he'd been absently smoking out of his mouth and gestured to a chair with it. "Have a seat. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?" Slughorn looked cheerful and was doing his best to be charming, but Harry sensed an underlying nervousness.

"Professor, I would like to ask a question about the procedure for our N.E.W.T. examination today," Harry began.

"Of course, m'boy, of course," Slughorn said, still being quite pleasant. "You know, however, that I cannot give out any advance information on your grade," he added mildly.

"Yes, sir," Harry nodded. "It's not about that, though. I wanted to ask about – about the Anti-Cheating spells placed on the examination classroom before the test is given." He watched Slughorn carefully for his reaction.

Slughorn smiled genially. "Many students are interested in them, although perhaps not all for the same reasons. They're a standard set of spells placed on the room to prevent unauthorized Summoning Charms or Portkey use, and to detect the use of enchanted quills, ink or other devices such as Remembralls or potions like Felix Felicis. Nothing especially unusual – they're listed in the standard teacher's guidelines issued by the Ministry of Magic."

"So if a student in your class had taken Felix Felicis," Harry said, presenting his question as a hypothetical situation, "You would know that he had taken it."

"Precisely," Slughorn said, puffing gently on his pipe. "The enchantment informs the leader of the class that something – or someone – is amiss."

"Is it possible to miss it?" Harry asked, trying to cover every angle he could think of.

Slughorn chuckled. "Possible, of course – but the teacher would have to be asleep or unconscious to do so!"

"What about very tired, or distracted?" Harry prompted.

The Potions professor gave Harry a shrewd look. "Harry, m'boy, are you trying to suggest that someone was cheating in my class this morning and that I missed the warning signs?" he asked, sitting back in his chair and folding his hands across his ample stomach.

"Ma – _someone_ gave me a small potion bottle after class," Harry replied, deciding not to reveal who it was just yet. "The bottle was empty, but I got the impression that it hadn't been when the examination began."

"Hmm, well – nevertheless, Harry, the spells were in place and functioning perfectly," Slughorn said firmly; his tone was perhaps a bit colder than normal. "In fact, I'm quite sure they were, as a more able man than I put them in place!"

"What – what do you mean, sir?" Harry asked, not comprehending.

"When I arrived in the examination room Monday morning," Slughorn said, "I was, as you may have noticed, a bit under the weather." Slughorn cleared his throat and checked his pipe; it had gone out, and he busied himself with repacking it for several seconds.

"A cold, sir?" Harry ventured to ask into the silence.

"A spot of brandy," Slughorn admitted. "Perhaps rather more than a spot, actually. I'm getting old, Harry," Slughorn said ruefully. "Such things affect me more than they used to. However, Sibyll's company was delightful, and she does appreciate the fine taste of good brandy."

"So you were up late drinking brandy with Professor Trelawney," Harry said. He didn't bother to add that Professor Trelawney usually imbibed cooking sherry when drinking alone; if Slughorn wanted to share fine brandy with her it was entirely his own business. "What does that have to do with the Anti-Cheating Spells?"

"Much, Harry." Slughorn no longer sounded quite so genial. "I arrived in the room feeling rather the worse for wear, knowing I would have to concentrate quite deeply in order to properly effect the spells, when to my surprise and relief I found them already in place!"

"Already in place?" Harry repeated. "How could that be?"

"_Exactly_ what I asked myself, m'boy!" Slughorn gestured dramatically. "It took me several seconds to piece together what had happened."  
"And that was…?"

"That Professor Snape, who had held the Defense Against the Dark Arts examination last week, had forgotten to remove the enchantments afterward," Slughorn continued. "I found them in place, as strong as ever, and saw no reason to cancel them just to place my own enchantments there, when his would do quite as well!"

"But wait a minute," Harry said, remembering something. "The Defense Against the Dark Arts examination was on Thursday. There was an Ancient Runes examination held on Friday – Hermione Granger took that examination – so why were Snape's enchantments still in place on Monday?"

"Ah, astute of you to notice that, m'boy!" Slughorn nodded, impressed. "I did bring that to Professor Snape's attention this morning after the examination – he pointed out that the Ancient Runes examination was held in classroom 11, as the small number of students taking that N.E.W.T. was a much better fit."

"I see," Harry said slowly. "So Professor Snape set up the Anti-Cheating spells that were used for both the Defense Against the Dark Arts and Potions N.E.W.T. examinations this year?" He remembered the apprehension he'd felt, last week, upon Snape's appearance in the entrance hall Thursday morning to escort them to the classroom for their examination. Beyond a few thinly-veiled snide remarks to him and Neville Longbottom beforehand, however, he had remained silent while they sat the test.

"Correct, m'boy," Slughorn said, beaming. "So you may be sure they were excellently done, Harry. Have I answered all your questions, now?"

"Yes, sir," Harry nodded. He didn't add that he'd brought up a few more, but he would get no answers for them from Slughorn. "Thanks for your time."

Slughorn nodded, dismissing Harry, who quickly made his way back to the common room, with a detour to the Owlery to check if either Hedwig or Pigwidgeon had returned. Neither of them had, however, and Harry began to wonder if they should perhaps find an alternate way to contact Ron's brother before it was too late for Ron to compete this Saturday. Assuming, of course, they would even be allowed to go to Diagon Alley.

Of course, in a way that was not a problem. All their N.E.W.T.s would be completed and the results in the hands of the Wizarding Examination Authority by then; Snape couldn't stop them from doing whatever they wanted. _Unless, of course, he expelled them for disobedience_, the little voice in his head reminded him, unbidden.

Harry pondered the mystery with Malfoy again. If Malfoy had taken Felix Felicis, the Anti-Cheating spells would have let Slughorn know. From what Slughorn had said, he would have been hard-pressed to miss the signs, even from spells cast by another teacher like Snape. So _if_ Malfoy had taken Felix Felicis, yet hadn't been caught cheating, one of two things must have occurred: either Slughorn simply hadn't acknowledged he felt the signs from the Anti-Cheating spells, and so was covering up Malfoy's cheating, or _Snape had done something to the Anti-Cheating spells to allow Malfoy to get around them_! Harry was pretty certain which alternative he felt was more likely.

Later in the evening, Harry discussed his ideas with Hermione and Ron, who were both understandably upset, although for different reasons.

"Just think, Harry, if we could've taken Felix Felicis during some of our examinations!" Ron said wistfully. "We could have straight O's on our N.E.W.T.s!"

"You _know_ that's not the point, Ron!" Hermione said, scandalized by his remark, however jokingly he'd made it. "Either way, a _teacher_ helping a student cheat is a very bad thing! It undermines all of the hard work and effort of all the other students!"

"Right, then," Ron said, knowing better than to continue making light of the situation. "So what can we _do_ about it?"

"I don't know," Harry said, frustrated. "Snape's probably removed the enchantment by now." Hermione had already confirmed that her Ancient Runes examination took place in classroom 11 rather than 7. "I can't even really prove that Malfoy ever had this," he said, holding up the phial the Slytherin had tossed him. "Ron didn't see him toss it to me. And I _know_ neither Slughorn nor Snape will admit they did anything dodgy."

Overall it was a rather frustrating evening for Harry. With no way to determine Malfoy's guilt, or even of satisfying their curiosity about what he'd done short of asking him directly (and expecting an honest answer, a laughable idea in itself), they had to content themselves that evening with abusing Malfoy, Snape, and the unfairness of authority in general. Finally, well after midnight, after Harry had spent a few hours watching Hermione study for Arithmancy, they all headed up to their dormitories, hoping for better luck the next day.

At breakfast the next morning, with only several minutes before the morning examinations were to begin (for Care of Magical Animals) Professor McGonagall stood, holding a letter in her hand.

"I have an announcement," she said without preamble. "I received a letter this morning from Gringotts Bank –"

Ron's head jerked up from the cereal he was having.

"— they've requested that I sign a waiver to allow a Hogwarts student to attempt to open the Vault that has been sitting in front of the bank these past several months.

"Naturally, I was initially quite surprised to learn that a student at this school planned to make such an attempt," McGonagall went on, her square glasses flashing. "But after a moment's reflection, I realized that, what with trolls, basilisks and even Death Eaters roaming the grounds and halls in the past several years, as well as holding the Tri-Wizard Championship here, that having a student apply to open a mysterious vault that's been held deep under London for the past 30 years isn't really a very unusual occurrence."

There was scattered laughter across the room. Notably absent, however, was anything remotely resembling gaiety from the Slytherin table.

"So don't tell us, Professor," a familiar voice drawled. "Let me guess: Harry Potter is going to try to open the Mystery Vault!"

Professor McGonagall looked toward the speaker. "No, Mr. Malfoy, that is incorrect, although I cannot fault you for coming to that conclusion.

"No," she continued, looking back toward the Gryffindor table. "The student who will attempt to open the Vault is Mr. Ronald Weasley!"

There was a collective gasp around the Hall, not the least of which came from the Gryffindor table. Ron, who had been looking toward McGonagall with a blush of embarrassment on his face, now looked around him, indignant. "It's not that bleedin' unbelievable, is it?"

"Language, Mr. Weasley," McGonagall warned, though her tone was mild. She held up a letter in her hand. "I also received a letter from your brother, Bill, who wanted to make sure there would be no unforeseen complications from your making such an attempt. I'd like to read his letter to the school." Ron gulped, but nodded and seated himself as McGonagall unfolded the letter and began to read:

* * *

_Dear Professor McGonagall,_

_As you know, Gringotts Wizarding Bank has hosted a Vault Tournament since September to allow witches and wizards the opportunity to try and open the so-called "Mystery Vault" currently on display in front of the bank._

_We have had numerous entrants over the past months, and frankly, my superiors are surprised that it has not been opened yet, despite some very ingenious attempts by extremely competent wizards and witches. _

_Let me therefore say straight off that I am surprised, pleased, and a bit alarmed to have one of your students, my brother Ron Weasley, apply to be in the Vault Tournament competition. I knew he had some interest in it but was not prepared for the idea that he would actually enter the contest. Our parents were quite shocked as well. I was at their home, the Burrow, when I read his application._

_Initially, I was unsure whether Ron would be allowed to compete because of my role in the Tournament. The answer was, surprisingly, yes. I thought Gringotts might feel there was a conflict of interest, seeing as I work for them as a Cursebreaker and that I'm in their employ to do exactly what Vault competitors are trying to do. However, they have given their consent._

_Next, anticipating the logistical and disciplinary problems of students traveling to Diagon Alley this Saturday, I wanted to seek your permission to relax the restrictions on leaving school grounds for this weekend. I hope you will agree that such an occasion will be a singular event in school history, no matter what the outcome is, and that you will allow many, if not all, students to attend._

_I have enclosed a Vault Competition token and Ron's receipt for the 50 Galleons entry fee. I look forward to seeing all interested students (and teachers!) this Saturday, and to seeing Ron in action. If he does open it, I may consider quitting Cursebreaking and taking up Quidditch. Just kidding._

_Warmest Regards,_

_Bill Weasley_

* * *

Ron's face, as McGonagall finished reading the letter, held an expression of absolute horror. "I'll kill him," he moaned softly. "What the hell was he _thinking_, getting the whole school involved?"

But other students were crowding around Ron, pounding him on the back and cheering excitedly.

"All right, Ron!" Dean Thomas, who'd been listening in, further down the Gryffindor table, whooped.

Before everyone became too loud, however, McGonagall held up her hand for silence. Everyone quieted and turned attentively to listen, even the Slytherins.

"As part of the school's recognition of Mr. Weasley for this auspicious event, I am allowing all seventh-years who have completed their N.E.W.T. examinations and who have no further obligations," she stared piercingly toward a few students at the Slytherin table, "to return home one week early."

There was a crescendo of applause from the seventh-years at the four House tables, and a few yell of "Ron Weasley!" making Ron smile, somewhat abashedly, at those around him while Harry and Dean pounded him on the back.

McGonagall called for quiet again and continued. "As for the other years, I have arranged with the teachers that all students whose schoolwork is caught up to the end of this week may also return home –" There was thunderous applause and cheers that drowned out the rest of her statement. Many students had gotten to their feet and were chanting "Weasley! Weasley! Weasley!"

Ron was looking around at the cheering students, his reaction a mixture of shocked disbelief and smugness. Ernie Macmillan leaned toward Ron from the Hufflepuff table and shouted, "Great idea, Ron! Do you really think you'll open it?" Ron, who couldn't hear what he'd said, just threw up his hands.

The only group that wasn't completely happy at McGonagall's announcement (other than some particularly bookish Ravenclaws) were the Slytherins, particularly Malfoy and a few of his friends like Zabini, Nott and of course, Crabbe and Goyle. It was a bit puzzling, Harry thought, though. The Slytherins stood to gain just as much as anyone from school being dismissed early. So why were they so put off by it?

Not that it mattered now, really, as everyone left the Great Hall so the day's N.E.W.T.s could begin. The Gryffindors all retired to the common room to celebrate. Sometime during the day, Ron confided to Harry that he'd sent the letter to Bill that Sunday, when he'd come back into the common room and Jon had been able to tell where he'd been. It didn't even matter to Harry that Ron had kept the news from him.

Nor did it matter to Hermione, as it turned out. She and Ron were settled cozily in an extra-large chair together, talking quietly amid the boisterous goings-on all around them between interruptions from grateful or excited Gryffindors thanking Ron for getting them out of school early. A few latecomers, however, had told of hearing Malfoy and other Slytherins ridiculing him as a braggart and showoff, which he shrugged off. For tonight, at least, Harry thought, Ron was the one at the center of attention, not him.


	33. A Beetle in the Ointment

Chapter 33

**A BEETLE IN THE OINTMENT"**

For Ron, however, a handful of disgruntled Slytherins were the least of his worries – he soon had half the school trying to find him. Most of them wanted to thank him for getting school cut a week short. Some, however, were interested in knowing how he intended to open the Vault of Mystery. The corridor leading to Gryffindor Tower, normally used only by the Gryffindors themselves, now thronged with students watching for Ron, Harry or Hermione to pass by so they could catch a word or a moment of time with Ron.

Even the Invisibility Cloak was useless – there was barely enough room to squeeze through while visible, never mind trying to sneak through such a press. Harry began to wish the secret passage beside the fireplace in the common room hadn't been closed – it would have been worth using just to get out on the school grounds without having to fight through dozens of students clamoring for a chance to thank Ron or press him for details on the Mystery Vault. "It's like I'm a prisoner or something," Ron said miserably, near dinnertime on Wednesday evening. He'd spent the entire day since breakfast shaking hands, answering questions or dodging crowds of students.

Ginny arrived in the common room looking tired, disheveled, and rather irritated. "It took me almost 30 minutes to get here!" she groused, walking up to hand Ron a note. "I even had to hex a few Slytherins who were giving me a hard time."

Ron looked at the note. "'S from McGonagall," he said, looking worriedly at Ginny.

"Well, go on, read it!" she said, looking at him in annoyance. "I don't know what it says – _I_ didn't read it!"

Opening the note, Ron scanned it quickly and said, "I've been ordered to report to McGonagall's office to sign a registration form sent by Gringotts. At the bottom she suggests I remember my favorite Quidditch team to get past the gargoyle.

"Come with me, Harry," he said, desperately. "I'll never get there alone."

"I'll go too," Ginny said with a grim smile. Ron looked at her dubiously. "They'll probably think twice about bothering you if they see me with you. There are still a few Bat-Bogeys flying around out there, I reckon." If Ron had planned to reject her offer based on not needing protection from his younger sister, one look at her face convinced him that saying nothing was a better choice.

"Hang on a second," Harry said. "Let's not hex anyone if we don't have to."

"Harry," Ginny protested, pointing to the doorway. "They barely let me _in_ here – I doubt they're going to let us go anywhere unless we threaten to hex them.

"Just let me get something," Harry said, and he dashed off up the boy's staircase, reappearing a minute later with a small sweet wrapped with the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes logo.

"It's a Puking Pastille," he said, holding it up to Ron. "I figure nobody's going to stop Ron if he's puking up all over them."

"Brilliant!" Ginny said, beaming. She took the candy and held it out to Ron, who eyed it apprehensively. "Right, down the hatch with it, then, Ron."

Reluctantly, Ron took the candy from her. "I'd agree it was brilliant, Harry," he said slowly, "except for the fact that I'm going to be puking my guts out shortly. Thanks loads, mate."

"Don't mention it," Harry said with a grin. "And be sure to hang on to the other end of that," he said, pointing to the sweet. "We don't want you puking all over McGonagall's office."

"Better yet, I'll take it," Ginny said, taking the sweet from Ron. "And come over here," she said, waving them over near the entrance. "We'll want to be out into the corridor as soon as Ron starts throwing up, so we don't leave much of a mess in here. Harry, know any good shortcuts we can use to lose anyone who follows us?"

"Yeah," Harry said, thinking ahead to the path to McGonagall's office. "I think so. We're going to leave a trail, though."

"We will, won't we?" Ginny realized. "Gross. Maybe we can give Ron the antidote before we have to go too far." She unwrapped the pastille and snapped it in half, giving the orange half to Ron. "Ready, big brother?"

"No," Ron said plaintively, but tossed the orange half into his mouth and swallowed. Harry and Ginny got on either side of him, grabbing an arm. "Hmm, interesting flavor," Ron said, then grabbed his stomach. "Oh, no," he said in a tiny voice.

"Let's go!" Ginny said, pushing the portrait open. Students milling outside looked up, then surged forward upon seeing Ron.

"Ron! Ron! You're wonderful!" a cadre of Hufflepuff fifth-year girls were calling after him while they scuffled with some sixth-year Ravenclaws who were waving for his attention.

"Hey, Ron!" It was Ernie Macmillan, still wanting the inside scoop on Ron's plans for the Mystery Vault. "Come on, just a hint, mate!"

"Out of the way!" Harry shouted into the hubbub. "He's sick! We've got to get him to – to the – infirmary!" That's not where they needed to go, of course, but it would've sounded suspicious to say they had to take a sick Ron Weasley to see Professor McGonagall.

"He doesn't look sick," a Slytherin fourth-year said skeptically as the trio came up on him. He promptly changed his opinion as Ron, who had held off as long as he could, turned toward him and lost his lunch all over the front of the Slytherin's robe. The fourth-year promptly jumped back, fell over, and vomited himself as the stench of Ron's puke reached his nostrils.

The odor of Ron's vomit, combined with that of the Slytherin's, produced a cascade effect as people, attempting to follow Harry and Ginny as they hurried Ron along, began throwing up in their wake. Soon, almost everyone had been left behind, either bent over or on their hands and knees, puking, or covering their own nose and mouth with their robes, afraid to pass.

They ran down a staircase, pausing halfway down to allow Ron to throw up again, losing the rest of lunch and a bit of breakfast as Harry and Ginny both held their noses. "I think I'm ready for the other half of that pastille now," Ron finally said, coughing and wiping his mouth.

"A bit further," Harry said, shaking his head. "We need to go one floor lower before we can take a shortcut that'll get us near to the entrance to McGonagall's office." Grabbing Ron's arms again and ignoring his moans, they hurried down several corridors and another staircase.

They went down a couple more corridors before Ron had to stop again and get rid of the rest of his breakfast. "Are we ready for the other half of that candy yet?" he gasped as his convulsions temporarily subsided. Harry nodded to Ginny, who popped the purple half of the candy gingerly into Ron's mouth. Ron chewed gratefully while Harry pointed further down the corridor.

"Past the staircase ahead, down to the next corridor to the left and between the second and third classrooms is a hidden door that will take us down to the second floor near the gargoyle in front of the entrance to McGonagall's office," he said.

"Let's get going, then," Ginny said, and the three of them set out down the corridor, walking past the staircase leading down to the third floor.

Suddenly there was a short from the bottom of the staircase. "Oy! I see him! He's at the top of these stairs, and he's not puking any more!"

"Run!" Ginny shouted.

They ran, Ginny in the lead with Harry behind Ron to keep him moving as fast as possible. They turned left down the corridor Harry'd pointed out, and Ginny shouted "Which side, Harry?!"

"The right!" Harry yelled, pointing to the spot between classroom doors.

Ginny ran up to the wall, looking it over quickly but seeing no way to open it. "How's it work?" she said breathlessly.

"Tickle it," Harry said quickly. "Right under that brown patch!" Ginny reached out and ran her fingertips lightly over the spot. There was a muffled giggle, and a wooden door with an old metal knob suddenly appeared. Yanking the door open, Harry pushed Ginny and Ron inside and stepped in behind them, closing it.

Ginny raised her wand, whispering "_Lumos_," and ran down the narrow, unlit corridor until they came to a stone staircase. The staircase twisted and turned several times, as if trying to find a sufficiently confusing path between the fourth and second floors, then came to an abrupt halt. They'd reached a dead end.

"Let me," Harry said, squeezing by. He tried pushing on the spot that normally opened the door, but nothing happened. Puzzled for a few seconds, he finally remembered what the problem was. Pulling out his wand, he said "_Alohomora_," and the door promptly swung aside for them.

"It locks itself sometimes," he explained as they stepped into the corridor beyond.

Around a couple of corners was the stone gargoyle that guarded the spiral staircase leading to Professor McGonagall's office. "Chudley Cannons," Harry said, and the gargoyle leaped aside. Once at the top of the stairs, they knocked on the oaken door leading to the Head's office. McGonagall's voice bid them enter.

"Ah, Mr. Weasley, there you are," Professor McGonagall said, looking up from her desk. "And Mr. Potter, too. Please be seated. Thank you, Miss Weasley," she added, with a glance at Ginny. "That will be all."

"She can stay, can't she?" Ron said, and both Harry and Ginny looked at him with some measure of surprise. They had never known Ron to question Professor McGonagall's orders; at least, not in her presence. "I mean, she helped Harry and me get here, and all. And," he added diffidently. "We're going to tell her everything that happens, anyway."

McGonagall stared at him for several seconds, her square eyeglasses flashing, but she merely nodded. "Very well," she said, removing her wand from her robe and drawing up another chair beside the first two. "You may be seated."

After they were seated, glancing at each other with some uncertainty about what was to come next, McGonagall seated herself again and become very businesslike. "We have a few matters to take care of," she said briskly. "The first being Mr. Weasley's registration form for the competition being held this Saturday." She pushed a long piece of parchment toward him. "Read this, date it, and sign it, Mr. Weasley."

Ron took the form, looking at its length with some trepidation, but began reading it. It took several minutes; by the end of it Ron looked, if possible, even more unnerved than when he'd began. "Blimey," he said. "That's an awful lot of writing just to open a vault." But he dated the form at the bottom and signed his name.

Taking the form, McGonagall put it away and looked at the three of them, an unreadable expression on her face. Harry had the impression she was hesitant to say anything; he glanced up at the portrait of Professor Dumbledore on the wall behind her, hoping he might give a clue, somehow, about her intentions, but the frame was empty but for the chair the former Hogwarts Headmaster normally sat in.

"Anything else, Professor?" Harry finally ventured.

"Well, yes," McGonagall cleared her throat, uncharacteristically. "There is something else we should discuss –"

"Why don't we just cut to the chase, Professor?" said a bored female voice from behind them. Harry, Ron and Ginny all spun round to see who it was. Moving out of the shadows, her elaborately curled blonde hair and bejeweled spectacles glinting as she stepped forward into the light, was Rita Skeeter. The three of them jumped to their feet.

"You!" Harry said, his temper rising. "What are _you_ doing back here?"

Skeeter flashed a thin, humorless smile. "Working, dear boy. I've been assigned to cover young Mr. Weasley's very likely vain attempt to open the Mystery Vault this Saturday."

"Bloody hell," Ron muttered under his breath.

"Language, Mr. Weasley," Professor McGonagall said coolly. She fixed Skeeter with a penetrating stare. "Ms. Skeeter, you were asked to let me explain the situation to Mr. Weasley and Mr. Potter before beginning your part in this."

"At the rate we're going, Professor," Skeeter replied, sounding bored. "The competition could be over by the time that happens."

"What 'situation?'" Harry asked. Neither McGonagall nor Skeeter responded; they were still locked in their own struggle for control of the meeting.

"Very well, then," McGonagall said shortly. "Everyone take your seats; I'll attend to it." Harry, Ron and Ginny regained their seats; Skeeter waved her wand behind her and the chair she'd been seated in zoomed forward, stopping just behind her so she could be seated without moving.

"The Ministry," McGonagall began with evident distaste. "Has decided having Harry Potter and Ron Weasley attempt to open the Mystery Vault is a newsworthy event, and have sent Ms. Skeeter round to collect some background material for the _Daily Prophet_."

Harry, who'd been bursting to speak since McGonagall mentioned his name, protested, "But _I'm_ not helping Ron open the Vault! He's doing this all on his own!"

"Mostly, yeah," Ron nodded.

But Skeeter, seeing her opening, pounced on it. "You never helped in any way, Harry? Never offered any encouragement? Never helped Ron study at all? He never did anything that gave you a clue, then?" she asked Ron, looking at him dubiously. "I find that hard to believe. Don't you?" she added, looking at Ginny with eyebrows raised; Ginny only glared back, her mouth set in a thin line.

"Well, _course_ Harry's helped me," Ron said indignantly. "We've done a lot of things throughout this year, and others too!"

"She's looking for a angle, Ron," Harry said.

"I'm looking for a _story_, Harry," Rita corrected him. "I've been – out of circulation for some time." Harry smiled grimly. At the end of his fourth year – the year of the Triwizard Championship, during which Rita Skeeter had made his life quite unpleasant with her tabloid-style journalism consisting of unfounded rumors and wild, speculative theories about everything from his sanity to his love life – Hermione had trapped Skeeter, an unregistered Animagus, in her beetle form and made her promise to quit writing for a year or Hermione would reveal her illegal status to the Ministry. Since then, as far as Harry knew, Skeeter had worked only once since then, when she interviewed Harry, at Hermione's request, for publication in The Quibbler, the magazine published by Luna Lovegood's father.

"This is my chance to return to the _Prophet's_ staff," Skeeter continued. "And I _don't_ intend to let it slip by."

"And how if we don't want to give you an interview?" Ron demanded.

"I'm afraid you don't have a choice, dear boy," Skeeter smiled nastily. "The Ministry is making it a requirement in order to allow you and your friends to attend the Vault Tournament."

Shocked, Harry, Ron and Ginny all spun round to face McGonagall. "That can't be true!" Harry exclaimed.

"Please keep your voice down, Mr. Potter," McGonagall said sternly. "As for the rest –" she nodded unhappily. "It's true, I'm afraid. The Ministry is determined, for some reason, to have you associated with this event."

"Let's get started, shall we?" Skeeter reached into her crocodile-skin handbag, removing a piece of parchment and a acid greed quill. Placing the parchment on a small table next to her, she sucked momentarily on the tip of the quill and set it on the parchment, where it stood, balanced and quivering, waiting to begin.

Harry shook his head. "No Quick-Quotes Quills," he said, pointing at Skeeter's. "If you're going to write about us, don't hide behind your magic to make us look bad."

"I agree," McGonagall said. "There's no need for you to use sensationalism this time, Ms. Skeeter. Let the facts speak for themselves."

Rita didn't look happy, but she smiled condescendingly and tossed the Quick-Quotes Quill back into her handbag, replacing it with a normal-looking one. "Self-inking," she said, wiggling it in front of Harry for a moment before writing a few lines down on the parchment. "From the rumors I've heard in the last year," she said lowering her voice conspiratorially, "The 'facts' themselves could be quite – well, incriminating, shall we say. For example, Harry," she nodded toward Ginny. "You're rumored to be the latest in a long string of jilted boyfriends for Miss Weasley here."

"Oh, rubbish!" Ginny snarled.

"Oh, I could make quite the case for it, my dear," Skeeter simpered, batting her eyelashes at Ginny. "Let's see: Michael Corner, Dean Thomas, Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom –"

"_What_?!" Ron said, spinning to look at Ginny. "You said Neville was just a friend!"

"He _is_ just a friend!" Ginny spat. "She's lying –!"

"It's not lying to point out the boys you've dated," Skeeter said imperiously.

"Everyone BE SILENT!" McGonagall thundered. Into the ringing silence that followed she adjusted her glasses, which had gone slightly askew, and continued more sedately, although her tone was no less sharp. "Ms. Skeeter, you will confine your interview questions to Mr. Weasley and Mr. Potter. There will be no harassment or badgering or the interview will be immediately concluded." Skeeter nodded, a rather forced-looking smile on her face, and said nothing.

"Miss Weasley," McGonagall continued, looking at Ginny. "You may remain, but I would prefer that you sit off to one side, out of everyone's line of sight. It will be better for all concerned." Ginny nodded and found a place to sit in an inconspicuous location.

McGonagall turned to Harry and Ron next. "Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, let's have you here, and here –" she pointed the two chairs in front of her desk toward the table Skeeter was sitting at, then stopped to survey the scene. "Ah, very good!" she said, almost managing a self-congratulatory smile.

"And finally," she finished, drawing up a comfortable lounge chair for herself, which she settled into with a sigh. Skeeter was eyeing her with some displeasure; she had apparently expected to conduct the interview without McGonagall present, or at least so obviously hovering over them.

"Isn't there anything else you could do while we're talking, Professor?" Skeeter hinted broadly.

"Indeed, there is," McGonagall said, taking out her wand again and gesturing at the table Skeeter was perched next to. A tea set and service for four suddenly appeared, knocking the journalist's parchment to the floor.

"Would anyone care for some tea before we start?" McGonagall asked politely.

***

Roughly an hour later, Skeeter had concluded the interview and was packing up her notes and quill in her handbag, along with Ron's registration form for the Ministry. Neither she, Harry, nor Ron, had enjoyed the interview. "Not my best effort, by any means," Skeeter sniffed with a derisive look at Harry. "But one must consider the source. I may be able to punch it up a bit…"

"Twist it, more like," Ron muttered, glaring at Skeeter contemptuously.

Skeeter merely gave her blonde, oddly curled locks a shake and said to McGonagall. "I'll pass along Mr. Weasley's registration form to the Ministry, Headmistress. I've been promised a two-parter," she said smugly, looking at Ron and Harry, then turned back to McGonagall. "You'll see it in the paper's Friday and Saturday editions."

"I daresay I won't see it at all, then," McGonagall said coldly.

Skeeter snorted, then walked to the door and opened it. "What a perfect little collection of nitwits. I'll let myself out," she said coldly, looking around one final time at McGonagall's office, then disappeared through the door and down the staircase.

"Well, that's that," McGonagall said, taking a deep breath, and Harry got the impression she felt the air was once again fit to breathe. Turning to Harry, Ron and Ginny, she said, "It's nearly time for dinner. You should be getting back to Gryffindor Tower."

"We're going to have trouble," Ginny pointed out. "Anyone seeing Skeeter leave will want to know what she was here for – and some of them are likely to guess correctly."

"No doubt," McGonagall agreed shortly. "I suggest you all stay in the common room – I'll arrange for your dinners there. Will you be able to make it back there on your own?"

"It shouldn't be a problem," Ginny said, tapping her wand into her palm in anticipation of the trip.

"We need a diversion, though," Harry said. It would be nice if Fred and George were here – they were masters of the diversion.

_Well then_, something in the back of his head said, _what have you learned from them, if anything_? _What kind of diversion can _you_ come up with_?

Thinking quickly, Harry turned to Ginny. "Do you remember where we came out of the passageway a few corridors over?" he asked. Ginny nodded. "Good," Harry said. "Ron and I are going to leave with him under the Invisibility Cloak, heading in the opposite direction."

"But you didn't bring your Invisibility Cloak with you, Harry!" Ron protested.

"I know that," Harry said, grinning. "And so do you and Ginny. But nobody else does. And they'll be _expecting_ a trick of some kind from anyone leaving the Professor's office – especially from me. I'll draw them away, and you and Ginny can run for that passageway. I'll get you a few floors closer to the common room. From there you're own your own. I'll join you as soon as I can."

Harry went to the door leading from McGonagall's office. "Give me a minute to draw anyone down there away, then head for that passage."  
"We'll see you in the common room, Harry," Ginny said, nodding.

"Be careful," Ron added, warningly.

"I'm _always_ careful, Ron," Harry said, smiling ironically. He slipped out the door without acknowledging Ron's snort of laughter and traveled down to the base of the spiral staircase.

Not surprisingly, there was a group of students clustered there, waiting to find out what had happened in McGonagall's office, and to catch a glimpse (or perhaps even a bit) of Ron. "Hey, it's Potter!" a Hufflepuff exclaimed as Harry came into view.

"So what's going on, Potter – and where's Weasley?" a Slytherin demanded.

"He's not in the infirmary, and someone thought they saw you, him and his sister running toward Professor McGonagall's office," a Ravenclaw boy pointed out. The rest of them started to crowd forward, to hear better. Harry put out his hands to keep distance between them.

He stood away from the corridor wall, as if there were someone between it and him, and began edging away in the direction opposite of where the passageway they'd come from lay. "Ron's got to stay up in McGonagall's office for a while," he said, not trying to sound very convincing. "I thought I'd just get out for a bit and stretch my legs. You can probably just wait here and he'll be down before too long."

"Who are you trying to fool, Potter?" another Slytherin asked scornfully. "You wouldn't leave your mate alone – I'll bet he's right behind you!" The Slytherin turned to the others around him. "Potter's got an Invisibility Cloak! He's probably trying to sneak Weasley by us right now!" The rest of the group advanced on him.

They had taken the bait. Harry turned and shouted "Run!" as if to an invisible companion, then took off at full speed. Everyone in the corridor behind him shouted and followed as well.

Harry led them a merry chase through the floors, corridors and staircases of Hogwarts castle, moving deliberately away from Gryffindor Tower. He ran with an arm stretched in front of himself, as if propelling someone along who was invisible. Harry knew most of the secret passages of the castle by heart now, but he eschewed them in favor of keeping his pursuers after him.

Several minutes later, he finally found himself running down the main staircase toward the entrance hall, where a scowling Filch had just shuffled into the room, grunting and wheezing painfully, for one of his routine checks of the Naming Scroll.

"Where're you running off to?" he demanded as Harry pelted down the staircase toward him.

"Nowhere," Harry said, slowing to walk normally down the steps as Filch eyed him suspiciously.

"Mind you don't run in the castle, then!" Filch growled, starting toward him. "I don't want to see any of you nasty little buggers running around my halls!"

At that moment there was a cry from the top of the main staircase, "There he is!" followed by the thunderous footsteps of two dozen or more students racing to catch up to Harry.

This veritable avalanche of students came to an abrupt halt midway down the stairs when the students in its forefront caught sight of Filch staring up at them in astonishment. "Filch! Run!" they cried, and immediately reversed course, causing a rather alarming (but only momentary) pileup as each end of the crowd ran into the middle. Quickly disentangling themselves, the students scattered.

"Get back here, you little beasts!" His rheumatism forgotten, Filch started up the stairs after them. Shouting and shaking his fist, he disappeared up the stairs. How he figured to catch _any_ student, much less all of them, Harry didn't bother to consider.

"Harry Potter." At the sound of his voice, Harry turned to see Firenze standing at the front doors, which he'd apparently entered while Filch and Ron's admirers were shouting. "It is fortunate I elected to return to the castle at this time."

"Hello, Firenze," Harry said, walking over to the centaur and shaking his hand. "Have you been looking for me? Has something happened?"

Firenze inclined his head. "There is much that could be said concerning the signs. However, my concern was to speak to you of my gratitude."

"Gratitude?" Harry repeated, surprised. "For what?"

Firenze stepped closer to Harry and lowered his voice. "For the way you and your friends have treated my daughter during her sojourn here, Harry Potter, even though you were not treated well by my kind the last times you encountered them in the Forbidden Forest."

Harry nodded soberly. "We wouldn't have treated her otherwise, Firenze."

Firenze inclined his head in acknowledgement. "Nevertheless we are grateful for your friendship." He started to turn away, stopped, then after several seconds turned back to face Harry again.

"There is one further thing, Harry Potter. A thing I hesitate to tell you – we do not often share such information beyond our own kind. The upheaval that is coming is imminent."

"Voldemort is returning?" Harry said automatically.

But Firenze shook his white-blond head. "We do not see the fates of individuals, Harry Potter. I have said this before." There was an edge of impatience his voice. "We look beyond such things, toward the futures of our races, inexorably intertwined as they are."

Firenze walked to the front doors of the entrance hall. "I will leave you now, Harry Potter. Think well on what I have said here." With a final nod to Harry, Firenze left the entrance hall, leaving Harry wondering, _Why did Firenze tell me that, if they don't care about the actions of any one individual_?

Harry made his way back to Gryffindor Tower where he found that, true to her word, Professor McGonagall had provided a selection of hot and cold cuts of meat, along with other fillings and condiments as well as different types of bread and beverages, as an alternative to risking the corridors. They had a mostly pleasant evening, marred only by Hermione's vehement reaction upon hearing that Rita Skeeter had once again come back to Hogwarts.

"That foul, horrible woman!" Hermione had seethed when Harry, Ron and Ginny finished their story about Ron's trip to McGonagall's office. "I can't believe the Ministry would want anything to do with her!"

"I can," Harry replied darkly. "They deserve each other."

McGonagall had also reprimanded those in the school who'd caused the disruptions, for their unruly behavior, they learned later from Neville, who had gone to the Great Hall to eat. Neville, his eyes wide, recounted how McGonagall had nearly canceled early dismissal from school because of it, although it seemed to Harry that she and the other teachers would welcome the extra week off almost as much as they would, so he wondered how serious her threat had been.

Things were much calmer Thursday. The crowds had disappeared from the corridor outside Gryffindor Tower and nearby hallways, and no one insisted on following Ron around haranguing him with questions about the Mystery Vault, so Harry, Ron and Hermione were able to travel around quite freely, with little interruption.

During lunchtime another owl came from Bill and Ron, reading the letter, punched the air in triumph. "Oi," he said, giving it to Hermione and Harry to read. "It's good to have a brother on the inside!"

"I got the impression from Bill's last letter," Hermione said, raising an eyebrow, "that Bill didn't want people thinking that."

"Yeah, but where's the fun in that?" Ron said with a shrug. Harry read the letter over Hermione's shoulder:

* * *

_Dear Ron (and everyone else reading this),_

_I got the lineup of contestants for this Saturday's competition, and you're at the top of the list. I expect there'll be a few more entries at the last moment, from the publicity of the article the Skeeter woman is writing. Sorry about that – once my bosses considered the publicity an article in the _Prophet_ could afford them, there was no stopping it._

_Just don't do anything to make the train late on Saturday – and no coming to Diagon Alley on thestrals, or hippogriffs, or even Dad's old Anglia, if it pops up._

_Your favorite brother,_

_Bill_

* * *

"If only he knew some of the things we've been up to this year," Harry said. Hermione gave him a reproachful look but Ron laughed.

"Yeah," he said. "He wouldn't believe half of what we've done this year, and he's done some wicked cool things in his day! Pass the mashed potatoes, will you, Harry?"

After lunch they went back to the common room to resume Hermione's astronomy research. Harry had revealed his conversation with Firenze to them, and they spent the rest of Thursday trying to figure out what it might mean. Hermione had even gotten out her fifth-year astronomical charts and was trying to deduce just what "signs in the heavens" might portend the major upheaval Firenze had said was imminent, but there was nothing especially catastrophic about to occur, celestially speaking.

"It's really an unremarkable time," Hermione said as she put away her astronomy charts. "I can't see what Firenze and the other centaurs are talking about."

"It's too bad we can't ask Deirdre, you know," Ron said. "I wonder if she'd let us in on what's going on."

Harry had the impression that she was not happy about Ron's comment, but she merely said, "If Deirdre told Jon, I'm sure he'd let us know as well what was going on."

"It seems like he knows quite a lot of things he hasn't bothered to tell us about though, doesn't he?" Ron pointed out to her. "No need to think a trifling little thing like the future of our races matters to us, does it?"

"Ron, he's not keeping anything like that from us!" Hermione said.

"Yeah? And how d'you know that?" Ron asked, pointedly. "What's he been telling you he's not telling us?"

"Nothing!" Hermione said archly. "I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Rubbish," Ron said hotly. "You talk to him all the time, don't you? He must've told you all sorts of things."

"You're making a perfect arse of yourself!" Hermione said, her voice shrill and on the edge of tears. Rather than say more, she stood and dashed up the staircase to her dormitory.

"I've got to hand it to you, Ron," Harry said, annoyed, watching Hermione's departing back. "You certainly know how to snatch defeat out of the jaws of victory."


	34. And I Will Move the Earth

Chapter 34

"**AND I WILL MOVE THE EARTH"**

The exchange between Hermione and Ron about Jon put both of them in a bad mood that lasted the rest of the day and evening. By Friday morning, however, Ron seemed to have forgotten his disagreement with Hermione, waking up in high spirits for their final day as he prepared for his turn in the Tournament the next day. With luck, Hermione would be as forgiving as Ron. Based on how that had turned out in the past, he wasn't too hopeful.

"It's really hard to believe, isn't it?" he asked Harry as they dressed for breakfast. "I mean, I can hardly believe it myself and I'm the one who figured it out!"

"Are you sure you'll be able to open the actual Vault?" Harry asked, half-teasing. Ron had practiced with the model for the hours, forming the image he believed would open the door of the vault, then having Harry jumble it up for him again.

"Feels like I've been doing nothing _but_ for days now!" Ron said. "I've got the time down to about ten minutes now, on average – that's well below the 15-minute time limit."

They headed down for breakfast, joining an anxious Hermione who was waiting for delivery of her copy of the _Daily Prophet_. "Good morning, Hermione!" Ron said, giving her a kiss on the forehead before seating himself beside her. "And how are you this fine morning?"

"All right," she said distractedly, scanning the windows for any sign of the post owls. "How are you?"

"Never better," Ron said bracingly. He looked up and down the table to see if anyone was eating yet, but there was no food on any of the four House tables. "What's keeping breakfast?"

"No idea," Hermione said. "I wonder what's keeping the _Daily Prophet_ this morning?"

"Maybe Skeeter couldn't get the article done in time," Ron suggested. "And they had to go with something else."

"Not likely," Harry said dully. "You saw how much she wanted that interview, Ron."

"I can't believe she had the _temerity_ to come back here after she – she –" Hermione sputtered.

"Too bad you weren't with us," Ron grinned at her. "You could probably chase her out of here, no problem."

"I wish I _had_ been there," Hermione said feelingly. "She wouldn't have gotten a thing out of us!"

"But then Ron wouldn't have a chance to go to Diagon Alley tomorrow," Harry pointed out. "It was pretty clear she had the Ministry behind her, somehow. I still can't puzzle out why, though."

At that moment breakfast appeared on the tables in front of them, and Ron reached forward eagerly. "Good, breakfast at last! I'm starving, and this is our last morning here."

"What, you're leaving tomorrow?" Hermione asked, surprised.

"Yeah, of course," Ron said, looking at her blankly. "Aren't _you_?"

"Well, I thought –" she looked at Harry "— I thought we were going to stay with Harry and help him after school finished this year."

Ron, who'd been spooning porridge into a bowl stopped, embarrassed, and looked at Harry. "Oh – right, we were… Well, Dad and Mum would love for you to come and stay at the Burrow, Harry, any time. I would too."

Harry smiled, grateful. "Thanks, Ron, and Hermione. I'm going to try and find a place to live in Godric's Hollow, maybe even where my mum and dad lived, if it can be rebuilt. I never did get around to visiting it during the year." Now that he'd realized that, Harry felt somewhat ashamed of himself for not visiting either the house where Voldemort had been stopped, sixteen years ago, or his parents' graves there in Godric's Hollow.

At that moment there was a rustling of many wings as the owl posts arrived with the morning's mail. Hermione had her eight Knuts ready and quickly exchanged it for the copy of the _Daily Prophet_ the owl had delivered. Unrolling it, she smoothed out the copy and froze, staring at the front page in shock.

"What is it?" Ron asked, looking at her expression. "They didn't cancel the Tournament did they?" he said worriedly. But Hermione could not speak to reply. She looked up at Harry and Ron, then suddenly looked beyond them, scanning the other tables for something – or someone.

"What's it say?" Harry asked, now concerned by her reaction.

Hermione finally found her tongue. "You're not going to believe this," she said quietly, her voice barely more than a whisper. "I can't read this aloud – you'll have to come to this side of the table to see it." Ron and Harry looked at each other, then slipped under the table, coming up on either side of Hermione and looking at the headline on the paper.

"Blimey!" Ron said, shocked as well. Harry, reading it as well, could hardly believe what he saw as well:

* * *

**Ministry Denies Knowledge of Centaur "Student" at Hogwarts**

**A** spokesperson for Minster of Magic Rufus Scrimgeour, amidst protests from numerous Wizarding families, denied any knowledge of a centaur posing as a student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Thursday evening, _writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent for the Daily Prophet_.

"Obviously, the Ministry is just as shocked and appalled by such news as the normal, decent Wizarding families who send their children to Hogwarts, expecting a normal, decent education," Dolores Umbridge, Junior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic, told the _Prophet_ correspondent. "A full investigation into this shocking allegation will be underway shortly, and let me assure all Wizarding parents who are concerned for their children's safety that new safeguards will be in place by the beginning of the fall year."

The allegations stem from an interview with students at the school who witnessed a female centaur, identified under the human name of Deirdre Recaunt, transform from human to centaur form one evening in the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest, a known refuge for a herd of wild centaurs. Other students, also present during the transformation, apparently chose to remain silent, aiding in the cover-up.

"She's supposed to be from 'a small village' somewhere near the school," the student, who spoke under condition of anonymity, told _Daily Prophet_ Special Correspondent Rita Skeeter. "But no one knows where this village, if it even exists, is supposed to be. She's also acted very strange during the entire school year, not like a normal person at all. That's why a lot of students were suspicious about her."

Nor is this the first time a centaur has been within the walls of Hogwarts castle. Since March 1996 a centaur named Firense ("She's even misspelled his name!" Hermione pointed out scornfully) has taught Divination classes at school, after the human Divination teacher, Sibyll Trelawney, was fired for poor performance of her duties by Ministry personnel. Although subsequently rehired, Trelawney's performance was never reevaluated by the school Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall, who refused any comment on this matter or on the centaurs currently teaching and attending the school.

* * *

"There's not even a mention of you or Ron!" Hermione hissed, her voice low so only the two of them could hear. All across the Great Hall, other students with copies of the _Prophet_ were reading the story as well, with clusters of students standing around behind them reading over their shoulder or talking about the article.

Harry looked around for Deirdre, wondering if she had come downstairs for breakfast yet, but there was no sign of her. Malfoy, however, was very much in evidence. Slytherin students were clustered behind him, reading over his shoulder, as he talked with others around him. Malfoy looked Harry's way and their eyes met; Malfoy nodded at him with a smug grin while Harry countered with look of purest loathing.

The doors of the Great Hall opened and Deirdre and Jon walked in. The entire Hall fell unnaturally quiet, and both of them stopped, confused, at the reaction their entrance seemed to have precipitated. Then someone at the Slytherin table made a whinnying sound, and the room exploded into laughter and catcalls. Many Slytherins followed suit, making neighing sounds and stamping their feet, mocking Deirdre while students at the other House tables watched, some shouting disapproval of the derisive behavior, although many others said nothing.

Deirdre, for her part, reversed direction and walked along the Slytherin table to where Malfoy was sitting. Students at the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables stood to watch what would happen; many Gryffindors leapt to their feet as well, Hermione, Ron and Harry among them. "What does she think she's doing?" Hermione whispered, watching in horror as Deirdre stopped not ten feet from Malfoy and his cronies, with Jon standing behind her. Harry could see that Jon's hand was in his robe's pocket; he looked ready to draw his wand if things should come to the worst.

"I see you found a way to get yourself in the news, Malfoy," Deirdre said evenly as Malfoy gave her a self-satisfied smirk.

"I don't know what you mean," Malfoy said smoothly. "The student who talked about you wasn't identified. For all we know," he said, raising his voice so the entire Hall could hear him clearly. "Harry Potter could have been the one to follow you into the Forbidden Forest and discover your dirty little secret."

"Dirty little secret?" Jon repeated angrily. "Malfoy, there's been a centaur _teaching_ in this school for over two years now! The only reason Deirdre couldn't walk in here openly is because of people like _you_, who think only pure-blood wizards should be entitled to the benefits of magic!"

As Harry watched this play out, he saw with some consternation that Crabbe and Goyle were moving slowly along the wall to a position behind Jon and Deirdre. He couldn't tell if either of them were aware of what Crabbe and Goyle were up to.

Malfoy had stood and was pointing at Jon threateningly. "You can keep your dirty Mudblood mouth shut!" There was a gasp as Malfoy used the derogatory word _Mudblood_. "Or I'll shut it for you, if you prefer!" His hand went into his robe pocket.

But as Jon started to pull his own wand hand clear of his robe, Crabbe and Goyle pounced, grabbing his arms and preventing him from drawing his wand. Malfoy leisurely pulled out his own.

"Attacking students in the Great Hall, Crown?" he said with mock disappointment, shaking his head slowly. "I think that's going to cost you – fifty points from Gryffindor!" There were gasps from the Gryffindor table; as a prefect and Head Boy, Malfoy had the right to take points from other students, except for prefects.

"Let him go!" Deirdre cried, looking at Crabbe and Goyle holding Jon, who, strangely, seemed not to be struggling.

"Or what?" Malfoy sneered at her challengingly. "Will you run and call for your herd to come rescue you?" There were snickers and chuckles from the Slytherins gathered nearby.

Harry was about to draw his own wand when Deirdre, turning back toward Malfoy, said, "No," then took a deep breath, and began to change, growing taller and longer as the lower part of her quickly transformed into a palomino body. Malfoy stepped back, his mouth agape and both hands raised before him as if for protection; he seemed to have forgotten he was holding a wand.

But Deirdre had turned to look behind her at Crabbe and Goyle, who were still holding Jon. Her back legs, now only a few feet from the three, lashed out, a hoof landing solidly in each of Crabbe and Goyle's chests. They both flew through the air, landing a dozen feet behind Jon.

At the same moment, Deirdre reached into the robe still covering her upper torso and drew her own wand, pointing it at Malfoy's and saying, "_Expelliarmus_!" Malfoy's wand flew from his hand.

"As you can see, Malfoy," she said coolly, pointing her wand at him as he stared at her in shock. "I do not need anyone to come 'rescue' me."

"Freak!" Pansy Parkinson, who had had been seated next to Malfoy, hissed as she leapt to her feet and stood next to Malfoy, glaring at Deirdre. Her hand was inside her own robe, as if she meant to draw her wand as well. "You don't belong here!"

"That is not for you to decide, Miss Parkinson," another voice replied from the front of the room. Everyone turned to see Professor McGonagall walking rapidly toward them. She stopped between Malfoy and Deirdre, looking at Jon, standing behind her and Crabbe and Goyle, who were still lying, stunned, upon the floor. "Tell me what has occurred here," she said.

"She attacked Crabbe and Goyle!" Malfoy said instantly, pointing at Deirdre accusingly. "And me as well!"

"You seem to have gotten off rather lightly," McGonagall observed dryly. "Compared to your two friends."

"She attacked me with a _wand_," Malfoy protested, saying the final word as if Deirdre had used an Unforgivable Curse on him. "Centaurs aren't allowed wands!"

"_Every_ student in this school is allowed a wand," McGonagall corrected him. She turned to Deirdre. "What happened?"

"When Jon and I came into the Hall," Deirdre said, looking evenly at Malfoy, who was glaring malevolently at her. "Malfoy here made a very rude sound, although I doubt he realized it. Centaurs do not whinny like horses.

"I came over to congratulate him for getting the news that I was a centaur printed in your wizards' newspaper, and those two –" she indicated Crabbe and Goyle, who were now getting slowly to their feet "— moved around behind Jon and grabbed him when he tried to draw his wand."

"See?!" Malfoy cried, pointing again at Deirdre. "She _admits_ they drew first!"

"Drawing one's wand is not itself a hostile act," McGonagall pointed out. "It only becomes important when trying to determine the primary instigator of a fight. Continue," she nodded toward Deirdre.

"I told them to let go of Jon and when they refused I transformed and kicked them in the chest," Deirdre went on. "I then disarmed Malfoy, who'd drawn his own wand."

Several of the Slytherins, Zabini and Nott among them, tried to object that Deirdre wasn't being truthful, but McGonagall held up a hand for silence. "I saw enough of what happened to know who's telling the truth." She turned to Malfoy. "Since today is the last official day of classes you're required to attend, I will allow you, Crabbe and Goyle some leniency; instead of detention, you will each deliver 100 lines of "I will not start fights in the Great Hall."

When Malfoy glared at her mutinously, McGonagall added, "You may deliver these lines to me whenever you like, but until you do, you will not receive your examination results, nor will they be entered at the Wizarding Examination Authority Office."

Malfoy scowled and appeared about to say something unpleasant when he was saved by Professor Snape, who had walked up to the group unnoticed (except by Harry, who'd wondered what trickery he would try to apply to get Malfoy off) and asked, "What is going on here, Headmistress?"

"Three of _your_ students," McGonagall replied, her spectacles flashing, "have been disciplined for fighting." Snape looked from her to Jon, then at Deirdre. If he was surprised to see her in centaur form, he displayed no outward evidence of it.

"Have the other students involved been disciplined as well?" Snape asked.

"No," Malfoy said loudly, with a dirty look at McGonagall.

"Be quiet, Draco," Snape said softly. Malfoy shut up, and Snape looked at McGonagall inquiringly. "May I ask why not?"

"I determined they were not at fault," McGonagall said coldly, obviously not happy being publicly challenged by Snape for her disciplinary decisions.

"Both Mr. Crown and…Miss Recaunt…" Snape observed. "Are being accorded preferential status at Hogwarts now?"

"Of course not," McGonagall said tartly. "But neither will they be punished for things beyond their control."

"However –"

"The matter is closed, Severus," McGonagall cut him off. "Your students have their assignment. Please impress upon them the importance of completing it if they wish to receive the results of their examinations." McGonagall turned and walked back to the High Table, where Professors Flitwick, Sprout, Tonks and several other teachers had arrived and were watching the end of the confrontation.

"She –" Malfoy turned to Snape, beginning to protest, but Snape silenced him with a quick motion of his hand, then pointed to the doors of the Great Hall. Malfoy turned and angrily stalked off, followed by Crabbe and Goyle, who were still groaning and rubbing their aching chests.

Dozens of murmured conversations began at once as everyone began talking about the altercation. Harry sat down with Ron and Hermione again, watching as Jon and Deirdre, now back in human form, walked over to the Ravenclaw table, only to stop when several Ravenclaw girls scooted away from the place at the table where Deirdre was about to be seated. She looked at them, apparently in shock at their reaction, then at Jon, then turned and ran from the room. Jon had started to follow her but she shook her head violently and waved him away from her. Sighing, Jon walked over to the Gryffindor table where Harry, Ron and Hermione were seated.

"Interesting last day," Jon said with obvious irony, looking unhappy as he sat down opposite them.

"Why didn't you go after her?" Hermione asked gently.

"I think she's had her fill of humans for a while," Jon said. "Those girls back there have known her all year, but they shied away from her just now like she had dragon pox or something."

"They were probably in shock from what they'd just seen."

"You mean, finding out that she's a centaur?" Jon's expression was opaque. "I got the impression that none of _you_ were very upset by that idea when you found out."

"Well, of course not," Hermione said quickly. "I think it's a wonderful idea, in fact!"

"And you probably wouldn't pull away from her if she came up to you, would you?" Jon continued.

"Of course not!"

"So it probably hurt when people she thought would accept her for what she is, can't seem do that," Jon finished.

He stood up. "I've got to go," he said flatly. "I've got to figure out what to do about my – well, you know… I still haven't figured out how to get back into that room."

Harry stood as well. "Come on," he said. "I have something to tell you about that." Once out of the Great Hall, Harry described his meeting with Dobby in the corridor outside the Room of Requirement some weeks before, and Dobby's indication that he would retrieve the boxes placed in the hidden objects room when Harry gave him the proper word.

"But you have no idea what the proper word is," Jon surmised. By this time they had reached the seventh floor corridor where the Room of Requirement was located.

"Right," Harry admitted.

"Did you try a Memory Charm?" Jon asked.

Harry started. "No, I hadn't. I forgot they could be used to help remember as well as forget!" he said, chagrinned.

Why don't we give it a try?" Jon said, taking out his wand. "Concentrate on what to tell Dobby to get him to retrieve the leather boxes." He waved the wand at Harry's head saying, "_Recognoso_!"

After a few seconds, however, Harry shook his head. "Nothing's coming to mind," he said, disappointed.

"You've really buried that memory," Jon said. "Harry, will you give me permission to use Leglimency on you?"

"You can perform Leglimency?" Harry asked, surprised. This was the first time Jon had admitted knowing something about the technique.

"How did you learn it?" Hermione asked at once.

"An advanced class at Merlin's," Jon replied. "It can come in handy sometimes when dealing with Muggles who become suspicious of unusual goings-on."

He faced Harry. "Okay, Harry. Keep eye contact with me, and think about telling Dobby the word he needs to hear to retrieve the boxes." Their eyes met and locked. The corridor seemed to shift oddly, tilting back and forth, and suddenly Harry was staring at the ceiling. A face came into focus above him. It was Hermione.

"Are you alright?" she asked anxiously. "You and Jon both just fainted!"

Harry sat up. He touched the back of his head and winced in pain; he had hit the floor rather hard when he fell. "Why would Jon trying to use Leglimency on me make us both faint?" he asked of no one in particular.

"It shouldn't," Jon said. He'd come round as well and was sitting up, staring at Harry. "_Something_ in your head _stopped_ me from getting in there."

What d'you mean?" Ron asked anxiously. "Do you think someone is in there _already_? Like Harry's possessed or something?" He looked alarmed.

"I don't know," Jon said, looking concerned.

It was a sobering moment for them all, and they spent the rest of the day in a dispirited mood; the festiveness of their last day at Hogwarts had been thoroughly shattered. Ron practiced silently with the model of the Vault. Hermione poured over several books from the Library dealing with Leglimency, but as time approached for the end-of-year feast she still had no idea what might have caused both Harry and Jon to faint. Jon had left for a while, to find Deirdre, but had returned, silent and brooding, and sat staring into the fireplace.

For his own part, Harry was feeling nothing about leaving the school. It was done, and he knew more now than he might have if he'd stayed away from Hogwarts trying to find Voldemort's Horcruxes on his own. Indeed, it was his fervent hope that those boxes in the Room of Requirement contained three of the four Horcruxes he needed to destroy before he could take on Voldemort himself.

As the appointed time drew nigh, Hermione put away her books and the group trudged down to the Great Hall for the end-of-year feast. In spite of his downcast mood, Harry smiled as he saw the colors adorning the Great Hall – it had been decked out in the blue and bronze colors of Ravenclaw, who'd won the House Cup that year. The Hufflepuffs, who'd won the Quidditch Cup, appeared to be pleased with themselves as well. It wasn't often that those two Houses both came out on top at the end of the year.

McGonagall appeared and made her way to the center chair of the High Table. She was dressed in a magnificent emerald robe and cloak, with an elegant matching witch's hat rather than her normal black one. All of the teachers present at the High Table were robed similarly, including Tonks in a shocking pink robe that matched her new hair color. In spite of all the brilliant colors, however, the teachers appeared somber and subdued.

McGonagall looked out over the Hall, seeming to take in the full effect of the year behind them, her first year as Headmistress of Hogwarts. As the conversations in the Great Hall died away, she began to speak. "Here we are at end of a very important year. Last June, we lost a person who was very important to many of the students and teachers here – Albus Dumbledore. I have been very proud and grateful to call him my teacher, and my friend, for many years now, and it was with mixed emotions I took over his position as Head of Hogwarts. For some time we were afraid the school might not even continue.

"However, all of you have made me very proud that we were able to persevere, and that all of you were able to be here with all of us. A special congratulations to Hufflepuff, who won the Quidditch Cup this year –" there was renewed cheering from the Hufflepuff table, and Professor Sprout, seated at the high table between Professors Flitwick and Tonks, applauded along with her students. "– and to Ravenclaw, who won the House Cup this year." Ravenclaw students cheered and applauded, and diminutive Professor Flitwick, shorter even than Professor Sprout, beamed and waved at his students in turn.

"Before we begin the feast," Professor McGonagall continued. "I would like to say a few words about someone who bears mentioning. Harry Potter, will you stand up, please?" Harry, surprised at hearing himself singled out, looked at Ron and Hermione on either side of him, then stood slowly. The entire Hall had gone quiet, waiting for McGonagall to resume speaking.

"Nearly seventeen years ago," McGonagall said slowly, speaking very clearly. "A terrible thing happened. A very Dark, very evil wizard, who'd grown so powerful that even his name was no longer spoken for the fear it generated, learned of the location of a young witch and wizard who opposed him, and set out to kill them. Unfortunately, he succeeded – but when he attempted to kill this boy, Harry Potter, he was, amazingly, unsuccessful. In fact, his failure is legendary among us, for it brought about his end – or so we thought.

"We learned, a few years ago, that he was still among the living, and he was eventually able, somehow, to restore himself to full vigor. How, he walks among us once again.

"I tell you this," she continued, "not to frighten you, nor to impress you, for neither fear nor impressive deeds will help you achieve your goals, but to give you the knowledge you need in order to make the best decisions you can.

"Harry Potter, as one of the seventh-year students who will be leaving Hogwarts this year, is just one of many who will do so today and in years to come. He will, as will the rest of you, go out and make his choices in life, for the better, I hope, of both himself and others."

McGonagall took out her wand and waved it. Goblets appeared in front of every student and teacher in the Hall, filled with a brown liquid. "I wish to make a toast," she said, raising the goblet, and everyone stood as she said:

"_May the best you've ever seen,  
__Be the worst you'll ever see.  
__May a mouse never leave your girnal,  
__With a tear drop in his eye.  
__May you always keep hale and hearty,  
__Till you are old enough to die.  
__May you always be just as happy  
__As we wish you always to be."_

McGonagall raised the goblet to her lips, and she and everyone drank.

"What's a 'girnal?' " Harry heard Ron whisper to Hermione. She shushed him.

McGonagall, her eyes bright, waved her wand again and the goblets disappeared. "Very well," she said, clapping her hands; food appeared on all the plates on the tables. "Let's eat!"

After dinner, feeling well-sated and a bit tired, Harry, Ron and Hermione returned to Gryffindor Tower and flopped into comfortable chairs. There was nothing much to do until tomorrow morning, when they would board the Hogwarts Express, which would leave at 7 a.m. the next morning rather than 11 a.m., its normal time, for the trip to King's Cross. From there, Hermione had told them (although she wasn't entirely clear on how) students wanting to attend the Vault Tournament would travel to Diagon Alley.

A while later Jon joined them; he seemed a bit happier as he said, "I talked Deirdre into going to Diagon Alley to watch Ron open the Vault."

"Is she doing better now?" Hermione asked, concerned.

"I thought for a while she was just going to disappear back into the Forbidden Forest," Jon said candidly. "But she decided that now is not the time to start reacting badly to the bad behavior of others."

"I've got to ask you something," Ron said suddenly to Jon.

"Go ahead."

"Have you ever snogged Deirdre while she was, um… a centaur?"

"_Ron_!" Hermione said, scandalized by the question. "That's a _very_ personal question to ask someone!"

"Well, I may never get a chance to ask it again," Ron said reasonably.

Jon had reddened at the question, but didn't appear otherwise embarrassed. "Yes, we've kissed while she's been transformed. It's not much different except she's about a foot taller than me that way. It's sort of like dating a basketball player."

"A _what_ player?" Ron asked.

"Just another American sport," Jon said. "Played mostly by taller people."

Harry was smiling as he listened to this exchange; it seemed that Ron and Jon had developed something of a friendship of their own. Too bad, Harry reflected, it had come so late in the year. If only –

He suddenly grabbed his forehead, crying out involuntarily as a searing pain shot through his scar. It was the first time it had hurt in months and it caught him completely off guard. Moaning, Harry slid from the chair onto the floor, his hands pressed against his scar. Hermione, Ron and Jon leapt to his side.

"What is it, Harry?" Hermione said urgently. "What's happening?"

"V-Voldemort," Harry whispered. "He – he's furious… " Another wave of agony swept through him and Harry fell forward, pressing his face into the area rug beneath him, his hands clasped against his forehead.

"W-what's he furious about?" Ron asked tensely. "H-Harry?" The pain subsided a bit and Harry realized that the common room had gone deathly silent. He felt the eyes of everyone there upon him. Even though his eyes were tightly closed against the pain, he knew Ginny was hurrying toward them; her footsteps, and the flowery smell he always associated with her, were most evident to his senses.

And he knew what Voldemort was furious about. He could feel the burning hot anger through his scar, the desire to inflict punishment and humiliation, the frustration of a year-long wait only to be vexed by the incompetence of others.

Harry pushed himself upright again, looking at Ron, Hermione, Jon and now Ginny, who had joined them just as he'd sensed she was, and whispered to them, "He's furious with… me."

Hermione looked toward him, horror-struck, then at Ron, who returned her gaze with equal emotion. Ginny and Jon, each more pragmatic, glanced at each other then back at Harry. "_Why_, Harry," Ginny asked, very quietly, so only the four of them might hear. "Why is he angry at you?

"T-those boxes," Harry whispered, pressing a hand against his forehead. The pain was subsiding now, as Voldemort must have reined in his anger and frustration. "He, he just found out they're gone from the vaults in Gringotts. And he blames me."

It was several hours before Harry was able to convince the four of them that he didn't need to go to the infirmary, or McGonagall, for help. Either way was liable to bring Ron's plans to open the Mystery Vault to a quick halt; McGonagall probably would not allow them, or any of the students, to travel to Diagon Alley if she feared Voldemort was after Harry.

Hermione and Ginny were both convinced Harry was in danger no matter where he was. "We should at least let Lupin know," both of them pressed him. "He may have expected something like this to happen."

"Why would he expect that?" Harry'd argued. "My scar doesn't hurt anymore." The pain had subsided to a prickly feeling that gave Harry the impression Voldemort was in deep concentration. Truthfully, Harry did wish there was a way to find out what he was thinking.

"Look," Harry finally said. "We could be at this all night. Voldemort has never shown up to attack me – he's always found a way to draw me to him somehow."

"What about your first year at Hogwarts?" Hermione objected. "He was here."

"He was here to get the Sorcerer's Stone," Harry countered. "Not me. I doubt he would have bothered with me, at least not then, if I hadn't walked right into his and Professor Quirrel's hands." That, and the fact that Professor Dumbledore had arranged for the Mirror of Erised to give the Stone only to the person who looked into it wanting to _find_, but not _use_, it. _I just wish_, Harry thought to himself, _that I hadn't made myself _and_ the Stone available to Voldemort by chasing after it. My brain surprises even me sometimes_. Harry blinked – that last thought had come, unbidden, into his head, and he had no idea why.

"Fine, then," Hermione said, throwing up her hands. "Have it your way. I suppose Voldemort would be a fool to show up in Diagon Alley looking for a fight, anyway… Goodnight, then. I'll see you all in the entrance hall tomorrow morning at 6:30." That was where they were supposed to report the next morning for the trip to Hogsmeade Station. Hermione went up to bed, shaking her head wearily.

Ginny, who'd remained mostly silent during Harry and Hermione's argument, now spoke up. "Harry, are you _sure_ about this?" She still, Harry felt inwardly, trusted him completely, and only needed him to say so for her benefit.

"I do," he said quietly, giving her a reassuring smile. Ron and Jon, who had listened to his argument with Hermione as well and supported his reasoning (although for different reasons of their own, apparently), were now standing back, giving Harry and Ginny privacy. "It will be alright tomorrow."

"I hope so, she said. She hesitated, then stroked his face with her hand. "It would be rather poor form of you to come all this way and then die."

He managed a wry smile at her black humor. "Yes, that would tend to muck up my life a bit, wouldn't it?" They both smiled and she suddenly leaned forward, putting her arms around him.

"Alright," she said into his ear. "Let's go for it." She let go of him and went to the girls' staircase, where she stopped and said, "See you tomorrow morning," and went upstairs as well.

Harry, Ron and Jon went up to their dormitories as well, where Harry, exhausted by the ordeal with Voldemort's anger and his argument with Hermione, decided to wait until the morning to pack for the trip back to King's Cross. He fell asleep almost immediately upon lying down, but dreamed that he was talking with Professor Dumbledore while walking through the corridors of the castle, while Snape followed them around trying to get Dumbledore's attention.

"I can't figure this word out," Harry complained in the dream. "It's like there's something in my head and I don't know how to get it out, but I need to so I can stop Voldemort."

Dumbledore, who was carrying a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans and idly eating from it, listened carefully to Harry's story and patted him sympathetically on the shoulder.

"I'm sure there is a very good reason why you cannot remember the word, Harry," he said mildly, after Harry had finished explaining the problem. "The mind can often play tricks."

"Have you ever had this problem, Professor?" Harry asked.

"No," Dumbledore admitted. "At least, not often. I was rather confused, once, when driving from Birmingham to Southampton, I–"

"Excuse me, sir," Harry interrupted, intrigued. "What do you mean, 'driving?' "

Dumbledore smiled. "Is it really so implausible an idea that I've operated a motor vehicle, Harry?"

Harry was impressed. "I just never thought you would have the need, sir."

"Necessity is not always a primary motivation, Harry. I had been curious for some time about motorized vehicles and thought the time was ripe to have a trip. This was well over a decade ago, Harry, before you were ever in school.

"I was traveling in Wiltshire, near a town I seem to have forgotten the name of," Dumbledore continued, "when I saw a most intriguing sign. It said, 'the magic roundabout.' Naturally, I was quite interested in seeing something that Muggles themselves had built and described as 'magic.'

"Alas," Dumbledore stopped and turned to Harry. "Not being very accomplished in driving and already rather unsure regarding the road signage, I'm afraid I spent several hours trying to find the correct road to take, until finally the automobile I was operating refused to move any more – I fear it was quite annoyed with me." Harry smiled.

"In any event," the old wizard concluded, "I decided that it would be best if I left driving to those more interested in it than I, and with a keener sense of direction.

"However, Harry, I digress," Dumbledore said. "You needn't worry about those boxes or their content – they will come to you when you need them." He reached into a pocket of his robe and pulled out a watch, the one Harry had seen him use before, the one with twelve hands and planets around the edge instead of numbers. "I must be off," he said, placing a hand on Harry shoulder in a fatherly way. "I hope you have a good time in Diagon Alley, Harry. Don't you agree, Severus?" he said, turning his head to one side, and Harry felt Snape's presence; but when he turned his head, however, there was no one there. Looking back, he found that Dumbledore had gone as well.

"Professor Dumbledore!" he called. "Come back! Professor –!"

But Harry sat up in his own bed, in darkness. Everyone else in the room – Dean, Seamus, Neville and Ron – seemed to be asleep. It had only been a dream, though if it had seemed all too real.

Harry lay back down, half hoping the morning would come quickly, and half dreading what would happen. He hoped his decision not to involve McGonagall in the business about his scar had been the correct one. Moments later, he was asleep once again.

The Hogwarts Express pulled away from Hogsmeade Station at exactly 7 a.m. the next morning, bearing most of the school's students and faculty. A few had elected to remain behind – Harry had been happy to see that Malfoy, Nott, Crabbe and Goyle had elected not to go. Neither had Professor Snape, which may have provoked some concern in McGonagall; she had elected to remain behind as well, although she was standing in the entrance hall as Harry, Ron and Hermione walked out the double doors to the carriages waiting beyond. She had nodded at Ron as he left and said, "Good luck, Mr. Weasley." Ron, who for his part was so startled by McGonagall's words that he walked into one of the doors.

The trip itself was an odd combination of anticipation and boredom. Normally taking from 11 a.m. until early evening to travel between King's Cross and Hogsmeade Station, the Hogwarts Express was traveling slightly faster in order to cover the distance in less than seven hours so it would arrive before the 2 p.m. start time of the Tournament Round. Ron, sitting with Harry, Hermione, Ginny, Neville, Luna, Jon and Deirdre in a cramped compartment, nervously worked the dial on the model of the Vault, moving the tiles into the proper order. Harry noticed that he let no one, not even Harry himself, see the image that he created, but spun the dial hard each time he completed it; the spin caused the tiles to move and spin randomly into a new pattern.

In contrast to Hermione, Ginny and even Luna, who were discussing almost every aspect of the Vault and what had occurred during every round – including the attempt by Bane to open the vault, something thought they might have considered too touchy a subject – Harry noticed that neither he, nor Neville, nor Jon, had much to say beyond short interjections in the girls' conversation. Neville was playing idly with a Galleon, and Jon had taken a book from his robe and was reading it. Perhaps each of them, like Harry, had thoughts and concerns to occupy their time during the trip.

Harry's own concerns – Voldemort's fury over losing the Horcruxes from the vaults in Gringotts, the impending upheaval the centaurs spoke of, his recurrent visions of Dumbledore – these, but especially the first two, weighed upon him. He could only imagine what might concern Neville – his status, which had seemed to wane as Harry's slowly rebuilt; or his relationship with Luna, which had similarly seemed to decline. In contrast, Jon seemed to have few concerns beyond his relationship with Deirdre and his Corvette, trapped up in the Room of Requirement. But then, Harry considered, Jon had always been something of an enigma.

A few hours after leaving Hogsmeade Station, owls arrived with the edition of the _Daily Prophet_. Quite a few students had requested a copy with Round 13 Vault Tournament information; many of them hadn't realized they would receive it on the way to the Tournament itself, however. Luna, who happened to be staring out the window of the compartment, suddenly remarked, "How interesting! This owl is flying at exactly the same speed as the train. Harry looked up – the bird was flying hard, doing its best to keep up with the train even with a pouch tied to its leg. He leapt to the window, pushed it open, and stepped aside so the bird could land, gratefully, on the sill.

It looked at Harry and extended its leg, the one with the pouch on it, and Harry extracted the paper and placed eight Knuts in the pouch. But the owl, ruffling its feathers at him, didn't fly off. Harry expected it needed a moment's rest.

"Has anyone got a bowl I can use for some water?" Harry asked.

Hermione took out her wand and waved it, then caught the small bowl she'd conjured from thin air. "Here, Harry."

"Thanks." Taking the bowl, Harry murmured "_Aguamenti_," and a stream of water poured from the tip of his wand, filling the bowl, which he placed on the sill. The owl hooted gratefully and began to drink as he sat back down, handing the copy of the _Prophet_ to Hermione, who thanked him.

Unrolling the paper and looking at its front page, Hermione snorted, catching Ron and Harry's attention. "What's it say?" Ron asked. Hermione began reading:

* * *

**Unqualified Student to Try for Tournament Prize**

**R**ound 13 of the Mystery Vault Tournament will take place this Saturday, officials at Gringotts Wizarding Bank announced on Friday morning, refereed once again by Mr. Bill Weasley, a Cursebreaker for the Bank.

Among the many problems encountered by Gringotts as this tournament has taken place, none may end up being so sticky as this one: one of this week's contestants, Ronald Weasley, 18, of Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon, the youngest son of Mr. and Mrs. Arthur and Molly Weasley and brother to Bill Weasley.

A number of other competitors have voiced objections that there is an obvious conflict of interest in having a brother of the referee trying to open the Vault. When asked about this, Bill Weasley shrugged and said, "I pointed that out as well; it doesn't seem to bother Chief Goblin Artag. Although I suspect that if Ron does get the Vault open, I may have to worry about my job!" he cracked. Other Gringotts officials have declined to comment.

* * *

"It looks like this article has Rita Skeeter's hand in it as well," Hermione said darkly. "Although she didn't put her name on it."

"Who cares what she thinks?" Neville said with a shrug. "When Ron opens that Vault we know who'll have the last laugh!"

Harry, glancing toward Ron, caught him looking at Neville with a pained expression. Ron's eyes met his for a moment, then he looked back down at the model he was holding, frowning.

The train arrived in King's Cross well after 1 p.m. The students and faculty left the train, milling about Platform 9¾ waiting to find out how they would get to Diagon Alley. Hermione was the first to spot the Auror, talking with Professors Tonks and Flitwick, near one end of the platform. "They must have something in mind," she muttered to Harry. "We have less than 15 minutes to get everyone to Charing Cross Road and through the Leaky Cauldron. It can't be done, even if everyone _could_ Apparate!"

A moment later Tonks began speaking, her voice amplified magically. "Listen up, everyone! We're going to begin sending you to Diagon Alley. Come to this end of the platform, staring with first years."

The first years made their way apprehensively to the front of the Platform where the Aurors and other Hogwarts teachers had gathered. "Each House form a circle," Tonks called out, "and place a finger on the object in the center. Some of you may have already done this before."

"Portkeys!" Harry said aloud, and Hermione nodded.

"That's the only thing that makes sense," she agreed. There were flashes of light as the first-years disappeared.

"Second years, come up!" the Auror handing out the Portkeys called out. In short order the rest of the students on the Platform dwindled rapidly in number, until only the seventh-years were left. And Luna, Harry noticed, had stayed behind with Neville. Even so, there were still a couple dozen of them left to travel.

The Auror, who Harry could see plainly now that most of the students on the platform were gone, was one he hadn't met before. He was bespectacled, young and gangling, perhaps only a year or so older than Tonks, and didn't have a very noticeable presence; in fact, Tonks had pretty much led the transfer of students off the Platform.

"We have only four Portkeys left," he said, pushing his glasses back on his nose. "But, that looks like enough." He handed them to Tonks who passed them to prefects in each of the Houses, although there were virtually no Slytherins in the lot, and none of them prefects.

"Slytherins," Tonks told them. "You'll travel with the Ravenclaws." A reasonable choice, Harry thought, given that there weren't many of either House present and that of the other three Houses, Slytherins tended to get on best with the Ravenclaws.

"Alright, on my mark," the bespectacled Auror said, holding out his wand. "You first," he said, pointing to the Ravenclaws and Slytherins. "One – two – three!" The group disappeared in a flash of blue light. "Next!" he pointed to the Hufflepuffs.

When the Gryffindors' turn came, upon landing they found themselves in a long, dimly-lit room. It appeared to be the upper room of a empty store. There were numerous old boxes and dusty items piled along the wall. The Auror, who had come with them on the last Portkey, turned into the gloom, lighting his wand. "This way," he said, leading them down a staircase where they found they had ported into the Aurors' Station in Diagon Alley, located not far from the exit to the Leaky Cauldron.

Tonks, who was waiting for them in the doorway, was urging them all to follow her. "We need to get a move on," she said hurriedly. "It's nearly two, and I don't know where Ron is in the contestant order." She stood, silently counting them as they passed her, stepping out into Diagon Alley itself. The last three to pass her e were Harry, Hermione and Ron.

"Ready, Ron?" she asked brightly as she gave a final nod to the Auror, who smiled and nodded back, then bounded up behind Harry and Ron to put her arms around their shoulders, only to trip and stagger into them. "Sorry, sorry! Are you both okay?"

"Fine," said Harry, but Ron looked as if he'd hardly noticed. There was a faintly green pallor in his face.

"Let's get a move on, then," Tonks told them. "It's your show today, you know."

Ron nodded automatically, staring into nothingness, and Harry said quietly to Tonks, "We'll be along shortly, Professor."

Tonks looked from Harry's face, to Ron, then nodded curtly. "Alright, then." She went ahead, leaving Harry and Hermione alone with Ron.

It appeared that, faced with the reality of the challenge itself, Ron's nerves were beginning to tell. He looked at Harry and Hermione and said, in a sick whisper, "I don't know if I can do this."

"Just nerves, Ron," Harry said reassuringly. "You can do it. We've seen you come through time and again when it comes down to it."

"Yes," Hermione agreed. "You've always done well on the Quidditch pitch when we've needed you to!"

"But this is a lot more important than some Quidditch game!" Ron said tightly; he was breathing rapidly. "If I'm wrong –"

"If you're wrong," Harry said quickly. "You haven't lost anything, and you'll have tried. That's a lot more than most wizards can say about the Mystery Vault."

"True," Ron said; looking at it from that viewpoint seemed to cheer him. Then he looked sick again. "What if it breaks all my arms and legs?"

"Then don't try to open it unless you're convinced you've got it right," Harry said.

Ron took a deep, shuddering breath. "Alright," he said raggedly, "Let's go, before I change my mind."

They strode toward the crowd waiting in front of Gringotts, Harry and Hermione in front, Ron trailing behind them. A sea of faces parted to let them past. There were familiar faces, from Hogwarts: Lisa Turpin, Su Li and Morag MacDougal from Ravenclaw; Ernie Macmillan, Justin Finch-Fletchley, and Wayne Hopkins from the Hufflepuffs; Malcolm Baddock and Graham Pritchard were there from the Slytherins, glaring sullenly at them. And from Gryffindor there were the Creevey brothers, Colin and Dennis, Seamus Finnigan; Dean Thomas, Demelza Robins, Jimmy Peakes and Ritchie Coote from their Gryffindor team; Lavender Brown was there as well, waving at Ron, with Romilda Vane beside her.

Other people they knew well were there: Tom, the barman at the Leaky Cauldron, had apparently closed his shop to watch, as had several other shopkeepers, Fred and George included. They both gave Ron thumbs-up as they passed.

They also passed a few people Harry recognized: Mr. Borgin, of Borgin & Burkes, stared at Ron appraisingly as they passed; Dawlish, the Auror, who had tried to stop Dumbledore's escape from Hogwarts during the reign of Dolores Umbridge; Perkins, Arthur Weasley's assistant from the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office; and a small, stout, bespectacled man Harry suddenly remembered was a wizard named Worple, that he'd been introduced to during Professor Slughorn's Christmas party in his sixth year.

As they approached the platform where the Vault rested, Harry could see Ginny, Luna, Neville, Jon and Deirdre standing together. Luna and Ginny waved; Harry smiled back as he, Hermione and Ron ascended the steps to the podium. Harry and Hermione stopped at the top and let Ron walk by. He'd made it halfway to the seats sitting next to the podium before he realized they weren't behind him. He stopped, looking back at them. Hermione nodded, indicating he should go on, and a moment later he turned and approached the seats, shaking as he sat down. Harry and Hermione descended to ground level and joined the others at the edge of the barrier in front of the platform.

Bill came out of the Bank and joined Ron on the platform, addressing the crowd from in front of the podium. "Good afternoon, everyone! Welcome to the thirteenth Round of the Vault Competition. We have two contestants today, the first one being up here right now, so let me introduce you to – ah, hold on." A small paper airplane circling nearby had distracted him. He reached up, plucked the small swooping object out of the air, then opened and read it. "Hmm," he said, frowning. "Apparently we have a line-up change. Hold on for a second, everyone." And he walked rapidly off the platform back into the bank.

"What's going on?" Hermione wondered. "How can they have a 'line-up change' – they didn't give anyone's name except Ron's in the _Prophet_ this morning!" Ron, who'd been left sitting alone on the platform, spread his arms as if questioning what was going on. Harry shrugged back at him.

Bill was back a few seconds later. "Sorry for the delay, everyone," he said. "Just a bit of crossed owls, that's all." Even though his manner was light, Harry thought he detected an undertone of irritation, as if he hadn't liked what he'd just heard inside the bank. "Our first competitor this afternoon," he said as a willowy figure stepped from the shadows of the Bank entrance, "is Professor Charity Burbage, of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"_What_?" Hermione exclaimed. "_Not her_!" as much of the crowd began muttering and arguing amongst themselves. On the platform, Ron's startled gaze switched back and forth between his brother Bill, Professor Burbage, and Harry and Hermione in the crowd. He finally settled on Bill, who said nothing else but made a barely perceptible shake of his head.

"What's she doing?" Hermione said, upset to see Professor Burbage on the platform. Harry looked at Ginny, Luna and Neville: they were all as shocked as Hermione was.

"_She's_ a teacher at Hogwarts? I don't recall ever even seeing her before today," Harry muttered.

"You probably haven't, Harry," Hermione said, looking at the thin woman with a rather odd combination of disbelief and irritation. "It's just that she rarely speaks to anyone outside her classes. She tends to keep a low profile. There's a rumor she's a Squib, just like Filch."

"'S not true," Ginny said, looking over at them. "I've seen her do magic. She's not very good at it, though – she's completely self-conscious if she thinks someone is watching her. I don't know how she's going to get through _this_ –" Ginny indicated the Vault competition "— if she can't get the simplest spell right when she thinks someone is watching her. She's actually kind of a nitwit."

Harry smiled. He'd heard that word used a lot recently, he recalled. Rita Skeeter had called them nitwits at the end of the interview she'd forced them into giving her; the goblin on the fake Galleon had called him one while he tried to figure out how to use it to get in touch with Fred and George. Where else had he heard it –?

Burbage had moved to stand next to the podium, beside Bill, who was going over the by-now familiar rules of the Tournament while the crowd babbled amongst itself and Ron stared, bemused, at the Hogwarts teacher who'd suddenly tipped him from the first position.

"At least," Harry commented to Hermione, "Ron'll have a chance to see someone else try to open the Vault before him."

"I'm not sure it's going to be much of a try," Hermione said skeptically. "I'll be surprised if she manages five minutes before she runs off the platform."

Bill finished the preliminaries and turned to Burbage. "Are you ready, Professor?" he asked.

"I am," she responded. Her voice was thin and reedy, Harry thought. It reminded him of the same dull monotone Professor Binns, the History of Magic professor, spoke in. "Before I begin, however, I'd like to explain what I'm doing here today."

"Thought that much'd be obvious, Prof – you fancy a bit o' whut's inside that there box," came a voice from the crowd. Laughter spread throughout the onlookers.

"I do," Professor Burbage admitted. "Unlike most, however, it will be my intention, if successful, to use whatever is within the Vault behind me for the aid of those in our society that do not share the benefits we do of the gift of magic.

"Even less fortunate than Muggles are those commonly known as 'Squibs' – persons born of magical families who have little or no magical abilities themselves. I plan to use whatever treasure is found to begin research into helping those poor unfortunates find a better life for themselves – and, if possible, a way to restore any latent magical abilities they may have to full power."

"How nice!" Luna exclaimed, clapping her hands happily. No one else joined in. "My mother would have liked her," she said, turning to Neville, who nodded but was apparently at a loss for words over what Burbage had said.

"A noble cause," Deirdre said, looking at Burbage with an expression that was a mixture of disbelief and hope.

"But how realistic is it?" Jon asked her. "Would the Ministry approve such research?" He looked over at Harry.

"I don't think so," Harry said slowly. "I don't think anything like that is in their long-range goals."

Burbage had dropped her token into the hourglass, which then spun end-for-end, beginning her 15 minutes of the competition. "We'll see how this goes, now," Hermione said quietly.

Professor Burbage had not wasted any time walking around the Vault; she'd immediately taken her wand out and was spinning the dial, moving or spinning tiles rapidly from one position to another. Ron was watching this performance with a look of sick uncertainty; clearly, he'd had the same thought that Hermione and Harry'd had, that somehow Burbage had found out what his plan was and was trying to implement it before he could.

After several minutes, however, Harry couldn't see that Burbage had made any progress with the symbols on the magic square tiles. They looked no less jumbled than before. Still, Burbage continued to spin the dial purposefully, sending tiles sliding up and down, backward and forward, or spinning clockwise or anti-clockwise from one position to the next.

"Is she getting any closer?" Harry finally muttered to Hermione.

"How should I know?" she muttered back, sounding irritated. "Ron never told me what the pattern was."

"Oh."

Professor Burbage had stopped arranging the tiles. Looking at the pattern on them, Harry couldn't see that she'd achieved anything at all, but she moved forward, one arm outstretched toward the handle. As she stepped in front of it, there was an unexpected gust of wind that whipped her robe about her. The crowd huddled down as the wind tore at their cloaks and hats as well. Harry shielded his face, trying to watch Burbage, but she wasn't moving or otherwise reacting to the gust.

As the wind subsided, Burbage suddenly turned away from the Vault, her head downcast, and walked back to the podium where Bill hastily joined her. He leaned forward to hear what she was saying, her head still looking downward. Burbage turned and walked off the platform.

A cheer had gone up among the Weasley supporters, but Harry was puzzled by Burbage's sudden change of demeanor and resignation. She had seemed very focused, very lucid, and very determined, right up until the moment she conceded defeat. That was not the actions of a person, even if some did consider her a nitwit.

"Folks," Bill said, holding up his hands for quiet. "Professor Burbage said she was very sorry to have to give up her efforts. We're going to move on to the next competitor – Hogwarts student Ronald Weasley!"

A cheer went up from the Hogwarts students and staff in the crowd. Harry and Neville whooped while Dean and Seamus chanted "Weasley! Weasley!" which the rest of the crowd took up as Ron slowly stood, smiling nervously, and stepped up to the hourglass, which Bill had reset so that all the sand was in the lower chamber.

"When you're ready," Bill told him, pointing to the slot on the hourglass. Ron nodded, swallowing convulsively, then slid the token in the slot, flipping the hourglass and starting his time running.

He turned immediately toward the Vault, pulling out his wand, and then, inexplicably, stopping in his tracks. "Oh, no," Hermione whimpered. "He's freezing up!"

"Come on, Ron!" Harry shouted. "You can do it!"

"Yeah, get a move on, will ya?" came Fred's voice from the crowd. "We want to see what's inside already!"

Other Hogwarts students from the present and the past took up the cheer. Harry saw Oliver Wood, now a reservist with Puddlemere United, and Lee Jordan, Fred and George's friend, both cheering him on. Ron turned, looking out over the crowd and everyone cheering for him, then looked over toward Harry, Hermione and his friends gathered around them.

Then he nodded and turned back to the Vault. His wand flicked and spun deftly as the tiles on the front of the Vault slide and turned. Harry could see a pattern slowly emerging from the arrangement of the symbols on the tiles. It looked so simple, Harry wondered how no one could have seen it before. Soon it had taken shape: a stylized image that began to look familiar: a globe with a lever and fulcrum underneath it, and the figure of a bearded man on the other end, pushing it downward.

In less than ten minutes Ron had all but completed the image. He spun the dial a last time, there was a final spin of one of the tile faces, and it clicked into place. The tiles suddenly began to shimmer and blur. Ron stepped back, surprised, and the crowd gasped as the fifteen tiles transformed into a solid image showing the same engraved image Ron had shown them in the book, of Archimedes moving the Earth. There was a loud CLICK-CLACK-CLUNK from the door, as if several heavy bolts had dropped into place.

The crowd was mesmerized. People shouted out, "It must've unlocked!" "Open it!" "Let's see what's inside!"

But Ron turned back to his friends, waving frantically for them to join him on the platform. "Come on!" Neville said, pulling Luna toward the steps leading up the platform. Harry and the others followed, and they clustered behind Ron.

"Ron," Bill warned him from the podium. "You have five minutes left. You have to open the Vault for the competition to be over and yourself to be declared the winner."

Ron turned to the rest of them. "I want us to open it together," he said all in a rush. "I couldn't have gotten to this point without your help or support – All of you," he said, looking at Deirdre.

"But you should open it, Ron," Hermione told him. "You've worked on it all this time. And even if we do turn the handle with you, you're the only one who had a token, so you're the only one who can win."

Ron laughed and touched her cheek tenderly. "Hermione," he said, "Trust you to find logic in a moment like this!"

"Well, come on!" Neville said, stepping up to the Vault. "If we all going to do this let's get a move on!" He reached up to grab the handle. "We all want to see what's inside this –"

Neville vanished.

Hermione and Ginny screamed. "He's gone!" Deirdre cried. "He disappeared!"

Harry had seen it too. "It was a Portkey," he said flatly. Jon, looking at him, nodded agreement. _But where had it taken him_?

"Where's Professor Burbage?" Harry bellowed, turning to the crowd. People were shouting wildly in the crowd.

"She Apparated out!" Bill shouted. Harry turned back to the Vault. His eyes fastened onto the handle Neville had just taken hold of.

"Come on!" Harry said. He rushed toward the Vault and grabbed the handle. Nothing happened. "Why won't it work for us?" he demanded, of no one and everyone.

"A Portkey would have gone with him!" Hermione shouted.

"But the handle's still here!" Ron said wildly, pointing at it. He reached up and grabbed it, pulling it downward. There was a loud CLANK and the sound of air being sucked inside the Vault. But Ron didn't disappear. He released the handle with a muttered curse and turned back to face the others.

"There might have been something placed on the handle," Jon said. It might have been a sheath conjured or transfigured over it to look like the handle.

Bill had stepped up and caught Jon's last statement. "If anyone did it, it was Burbage!" he said. "I checked over the Vault just before lunch when I got here to prepare for the Round!"

"We've got to find him!" Luna shouted hysterically. She no longer seemed vague or dreamy. "We've got to get him back! What if – what if … " she couldn't complete the statement.

And Harry didn't want to, either. He turned to Hermione. "How can we figure out where he is?"

She shook her head uncertainly. "I don't know. It's too much to hope for that he still has a D.A. token."

"No!" Harry shouted. "He was playing with a Galleon on the Hogwarts Express!"

"Good!" Hermione reached into her purse, pushing her hand much further in than it seemed possible. "I've got a compartment here in my purse," she said softly to Harry, "where I keep some things that might be handy." She brought out a fake Galleon, one of the special tokens she'd made for Dumbledore's Army members to get messages from Harry.

"I put a special identifier in each one of these coins," she said quickly. "Your token, Harry, had a link with each one of them, so that when you changed the numbers to a date and time the same change would appear on each coin. Luckily, I put the same link in my token as well. But," she faltered, "I don't know how we can get to him, even if we can figure out where he is!"

"Leave that to me," Jon said. Hermione looked up at him; his expression was one of grim determination. She nodded and passed her wand over the coin. There was several seconds' pause and Hermione said, awed, "He's back at Hogwarts!"

"Then so are we," Jon said. He tapped Hermione's Galleon and said, "_Portus_." There was a blue glow around the coin and it leapt in her hand, then lay still. "I've set it to activate 30 seconds from now," he said.

"Gather around," Harry said. He took the Portkey from Hermione and put it in his palm. "Everyone put one finger on it." Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Luna, Deirdre and Jon each did so. "I hope you all understand the seriousness of what we're heading into."

They all nodded. "Good," Harry said. He had to time this exactly right. "Then I hope you'll all understand why I have to do this."

"Do what," Ron asked.

The Galleon flashed blue, and Harry jerked it away from them, stepping back and turning away while shielding the Portkey from the others with his body. They reached for him, but too late – the Portkey pulled Harry away and sent him whirling and spinning amid bright, blurred colors, until at last his feet hit ground again.


	35. The Power of Seven

Chapter 35

**THE POWER OF SEVEN**

Harry looked up, recognizing the front face of Hogwarts castle, the stone staircase and balustrade leading up to the double doors that opened to the entrance hall beyond. The doors were closed now, as they normally were, but he saw with a chill of fear that a body lay in front of the steps.

He thrust the coin he held into his pocket and ran to the body, knowing before he even saw the face who it must be. It was Neville, staring sightlessly into the sky, a determined look on his face even in death. Harry put a hand on his chest, hoping to feel a heartbeat and knowing there would be none. Harry closed his eyes, his mind filled with pain and anguish for his fallen friend.

"Neville, I'm so sorry," he whispered. "I should have known this was coming." Hot tears were forcing themselves from his eyes.

He knelt there, his hand upon Neville's unmoving chest, uncaring as one of the great wooden doors slowly swung open and two men stepped out on the landing and walked slowly down the steps to stand in front of him. One man, tall, deathly pale, and thin, looked at Harry through red, vertical-slitted eyes, a cruel smile playing upon his lipless mouth.

The other man, smaller than the first, moved cautiously, tentatively behind the first, his small eyes shifting furtively from one to the other, as if afraid of what he must now face.

"Finally," the first man said, his voice high, cold, and clear. "We meet again, Harry Potter. For the last time."

Harry continued to kneel beside the body of Neville Longbottom, tears spilling onto his cheeks, as Voldemort moved another step closer.

"So," Harry said at last, without opening his eyes. "You're back."

Voldemort chuckled, a cold, mirthless sound. "I was never gone, of course. That was only a feint, but an effective one, it seems – the Ministry seems much more content to tell everyone that I'm dead than to reveal it was wrong about me. Fudge was a witless old fool. Scrimgeour, at least, is a warrior, although he is a rock supporting a house of cards. It won't be long before the Ministry falls before me, as Hogwarts has.

"I confess, Harry, that I am a bit surprised to see you here alone," Voldemort continued softly. "I had expected a few of your friends as well – the red-haired pureblood boy, or even the Mudblood girl, rather than that deluded fool, followed by you and a number of your friends."

Harry finally opened his eyes, staring with furious anger at Voldemort. "Sorry to spoil your plans," he said shortly. "I didn't want anyone else along, in case you got any ideas about trying to kill anyone else."

"Hardly a need for that," Voldemort said coldly, indicating the school behind him with a gesture. "There's more than enough here already."

Harry stiffened. He'd forgotten, when he pulled the coin away from the others, that there were still a handful of students left in the school. "Most of them are Slytherins," he said. "Already on your side."

"Ah Harry, Harry," Voldemort shook his snakelike head slowly. "You should know by now that allegiance to the House of Slytherin does not automatically mean allegiance to me, any more than allegiance to any other House precludes it. Our friend Wormtail here, who was in Gryffindor, demonstrates that.

"I met one of my old teachers inside," Voldemort went on. "Professor Horace Slughorn, my dear old Potions Master, who was Head of Slytherin during my time here. Perhaps he's not a good example, however, since he was keen to join me once he realized that the school had fallen to me. I sent him on to join the others who waited too long to declare their loyalty to me."

Harry finally stood. "So you killed him, too," he said flatly.

Voldemort smiled, a horrifying, evil leer. "Of course."

"Where are your other followers?" Harry asked.

"They are securing the school," Voldemort said, casually waving a long-fingered hand. "I wanted this final conversation to be just between us."

Harry realized, in that moment, that the others must be trying to find a way to follow him as quickly as they could; between Hermione and Jon, he expected, they would not be delayed for long. With only Voldemort and Wormtail to contend with, Harry hoped he could count on Wormtail to hesitate just enough for Harry to gain an advantage. Peter Pettigrew owed him a life debt: that might be the only advantage he would have here.

His hand moved suddenly, unerringly to his robe pocket -- the wand inside slid free and he started to point it toward Voldemort. But as fast as he drew, the Dark Lord's wand was faster. "_Crucio_!" Voldemort shouted, and blinding, white-hot pain hit Harry, staggering him and throwing him to the ground; the wand flew from his fingers. The pain tore through Harry's arms and legs, coursed through his body like a living thing, making him blind and deaf to everything except red agony and his own anguished screams.

The Cruciatus Curse seemed to go on for days, weeks, years. Harry wondered how long it would be before the pain drove him mad, as it had Neville's parents. Finally, the pain ceased and Harry lay gasping, his entire body trembling with the memory, the taste of vomit in his mouth as he coughed weakly. His wand lay just beyond his grasp. Harry stretched slowly toward it, gritting his teeth against the pain of his still-protesting muscles, only to watch it snap in half as Voldemort flicked his wand once more.

"That was a foolish thing to do, Harry," Voldemort's voice came, mildly reproving even as it sounded amused, even pleasured, by what he'd just done. "You have no hope of winning this time. You are no match for me, not even with all of your little friends to back you up."

"That remains to be seen, Voldemort!" At the sound of that voice Harry's head turned automatically toward it. Even through his barely open eyes he could see who had spoken: Ron!

It was Ron and Hermione, accompanied by Ginny, Luna, Deirdre and Jon, all of whom had their wands out and pointed at Voldemort and Wormtail. "Back away from him!" Ron barked. "You're outnumbered! There's seven of us and only two of you!"

Surprisingly, Voldemort lowered his wand, but he did not back away. "Ah, welcome, friends of Harry Potter. I'm very glad you could join us. I confess, I was beginning to wonder whether you were coming to Harry's aid or not."

"You'd better believe we were!" Ron shouted. "_Stupefy_!" But the red bolt of energy from his wand never reached Voldemort. Not even raising his wand from his side, he flicked it slightly and the bolt was deflected away from the Dark Lord and into the ground, where it exploded uselessly.

Harry tried to get to his feet, but none of his limbs worked yet; he was still weak and trembling from the effects of the Cruciatus Curse. He put out an arm toward them, trying to warn them away from him. Instead, however, they did the exact opposite – rushing forward, closer to him and Voldemort. Ron and Hermione knelt down beside him while the others kept their wands pointed at Voldemort, who watched them, coldly amused.

"Quite a touching scene," Voldemort said mockingly. "The fallen hero, surrounded by his friends, whom he will rally at the last moment to thwart the evil wizard and save the day. Almost the stuff of legends, wouldn't you say?"

"Are you alright, Harry?" Ron said, ignoring Voldemort's words. "Can you stand?" Harry nodded; shaking. Despite Voldemort's taunts, it _would_ be better if he could stand.

"Harry," Hermione whispered, horrified; she'd just seen the pieces of his wand next to him. "Your wand is broken!"

"Don't worry about it," Harry said. "Help me up."

But before anyone could move to help him, Voldemort said loudly, "Disarm them!"

Cries of "_Expelliarmus_!" filled the air and the group's wands flew from their grasps only to stop, seemingly suspended in midair around them.

Then five figures, surrounding them, each one holding a wan, shimmered into view as their Disillusionment Charms were released. Wormtail, whose wand was out as well, had caught the sixth one. Ron and Jon each took one of Harry's arms and pulled him to his feet.

Looking around, Harry saw the Death Eaters who had been hiding nearby, Disillusioned so he wouldn't see them: On Voldemort's right was Bellatrix Lestrange, dark haired with heavy lidded eyes, a cruel smile on her red lips. On her right were the elder Crabbe and Goyle, the fathers of Draco Malfoy's thugs, both grinning and chuckling maliciously.

Nearly behind them were Draco's parents, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, staring haughtily at them. To complete the circle, Wormtail moved away from Voldemort, smiling and wiggling the wand he held; it was Deirdre's, whom he'd been closest to when they were disarmed.

"Just that simple," Voldemort said softly, and there was derisive laughter from the Death Eaters, as if it should have been obvious he would not face seven wizards and witches with only one Death Eater on his side, as if Harry had been foolish to believe so.

Harry swayed on his feet, and Hermione moved toward him, stepping between him and Jon, to take his arm. The Death Eaters were still laughing. "Are you all right?" she whispered.

"You shouldn't have come," he said harshly.

"Don't be thick, Harry," Hermione said, just as agitated.

"Yes, don't be so thick, Harry Potter," Bellatrix called, laughing. "Your little friends are here to die for you, as so many people in your life have already!"

"We had to come!" Hermione said, so low Harry could barely hear her. "Remember the final prophecy? The power of seven! There are seven of us here –"

"_Silencio_!" Voldemort cried, and the rest of Hermione's sentence died in her throat.

"You have some things that belong to me," Voldemort said to Harry. His voice was no longer soft; its tone was now that of pure menace, undiluted evil. "You know of what I speak."

"Yes, I know," Harry snapped. "Your Horcruxes –"

"_Silencio_!" Voldemort shouted again, and Harry's words stuck in his throat. But the damage had already been done.

"_Horcruxes_?" Both Lucius and Bellatrix said at the same time, sounding shocked.

"My – my Lord," Lucius continued haltingly. "Surely the boy means only, the one…"

"He wants you to _believe_ that –!" Ron began, but Voldemort silenced him as well.

"My Lord," Bellatrix turned to her master, beseechingly, but Voldemort looked furious at having his secret revealed.

"Say _nothing_, Bellatrix," Voldemort said warningly. "We will not speak of these things now!" He turned to Harry. "_Except_, to have Potter tell us where he has hidden them." He removed the Silencing Charm and waited expectantly.

"I'm not going to tell you a damned thing," Harry said flatly.

"You will," Voldemort replied. "You have no choice."

"We always have a choice," Harry fired back.

Voldemort laughed mirthlessly. "Indeed we do, Harry Potter! However, your choices, since arriving here, haven't done you much good. You and your friends are disarmed, surrounded, and at my mercy.

"And I _assure_ you, I have _very little_ mercy to spare, even for my friends." Voldemort looked to his right, at Bellatrix. "Bella, you may do the –"

Harry, who'd been waiting for just such an opportunity, reached suddenly into his robe where he'd placed his real wand, separate from the Wand-Mate duplicate, which now lay broken on the ground beside him. Pointing it at Voldemort, he shouted "_Expelliarmus_!" and amazingly, the wand flew from Voldemort's hand! Unfortunately it did not fly in Harry's direction, as he'd intended.

"Potter, you little bastard!" Bellatrix screamed, pointing her wand at him. "_Crucio_!"

But as Bellatrix shouted the curse Harry shouted "Duck!" and the others with him dodged to one side or the other, leaving a clear path between Bellatrix and her sister, Narcissa. The curse hit and she screamed, a loud shrieking wail that almost seemed to echo across the grounds as she fell to the ground. Bellatrix halted the curse almost immediately but Narcissa had already collapsed.

"_Cissy_!" Bellatrix cried, then froze as Harry's Body-Bind Curse hit her.

"Stop them!" Voldemort shouted at the others, enraged at being disarmed. The other students were charging the nearest Death Eater, in almost every case the one who held their wand.

But Malfoy shouted, "Shields!" and each Death Eater formed a Shield Charm in front of them, causing each of the students to rebound back toward the center. Harry, who'd turned to try and cover the others' attempts to regain their wands, now spun round to face Voldemort again, but the tall, skeletal figure had plucked Bellatrix's wand from her fingers and Summoned his own wand back to him.

As Harry faced him, Voldemort shouted "_Expelliarmus_!" and Harry's wand flew high into the air, clattering onto the landing at the top of the staircase leading into the school.

"That," Voldemort said, his tone one of cold fury, "was foolish."

He canceled the Body-Bind Curse on Bellatrix and returned her wand; upon its return she immediately pointed it at Harry, murderous rage etched into her now-livid face.

"Not yet," Voldemort ordered. "I still require answers from the boy. You may have a few minutes when I am finished with him." Bellatrix lowered her wand.

"Thank you, my Lord," she said. "I look forward to those minutes with much…anticipation." Her smile was a promise of pain and retribution.

The Death Eaters' Shield Charms had pushed them, more or less, into a line in front of Voldemort; Jon and Deirdre were at its ends, Jon on the left and Deirdre on the right. Next to Jon and slightly behind him were Hermione and Ron. Closest to the center was Harry, with Ginny and Luna standing nearly behind him, to his right.

"Now," Voldemort said, pointing his wand directly at Harry's chest. "No more delays. Tell me what you've done with those boxes, Potter. Or –" the Dark Lord moved his wand back and forth, pointing first at one person and then another "— would you prefer to watch me kill one of your little friends, perhaps?"

Harry hesitated. He'd run out of options, except to tell Voldemort where the Horcruxes were and hope that he would have no better luck than Harry'd had trying to get in. "They're in the Room of Requirement."

"The Room of Requirement?" Voldemort said sharply. "How did you gain entrance to it?"

"The same way anyone does," Jon spoke up. "By needing to."

"Shut your trap," Goyle rasped, raising his wand threateningly.

"Let him speak," Voldemort commanded. "You were able to enter it?"

"Of c-course," Hermione said, speaking up in spite of her fear. "Anyone can get in if they n-need to."

"There was a rumor," Narcissa said, "long held among the Slytherin, that Salazar Slytherin created the room for purebloods only."

"Well, you can cross that rumor off as false," Ginny said boldly.

"Very well," Voldemort said to Harry. "Go get them."

Harry was silent for several moments before he asked, "Are you sure you trust me to go alone?"

"All of your friends will remain here," Voldemort said simply. "If you do not return in ten minutes one of them will be killed, and another one every minute thereafter, until you bring me those boxes. You will be back, Harry." He turned and pointed his wand at the stairs. Harry's wand shot off the landing and into his long-fingered hand. Voldemort handed it to Bellatrix, who looked at it appraisingly, then smiled at Harry as she stuck it into a pocket of her robe. "Now, go."

But Harry didn't move. He didn't know what to do. Every instinct was screaming for him to run, to find another wand somehow and come back to continue the fight. But he would not, he _could_ _not_, abandon his friends. "I – I can't get into the Room of Requirement."

"Harry, Harry," Voldemort said softly, almost reproachfully. "Such _lies_ you tell me."

"I'm _not_ lying," Harry said immediately. "I _can_ get into the Room of Requirement, but not the room that holds those boxes. I don't know why."

"Is there anyone that can get into the room?"

"I – I don't know."

"You're lying, Potter. Do you take me for some kind of half-wit?" Perversely, Harry thought he should have used the word _nitwit_. Voldemort pointed his wand at Jon. "Tell me quickly who it is, or one of your friends dies, now!"

Harry gritted his teeth. Voldemort was leaving him no choice.

"Don't tell him, Harry," Jon said, "Voldemort has already proven himself a coward and a liar."

"You _dare_ insult our Lord?!" Bellatrix screamed, pointing her wand at Jon, but Voldemort stopped her with a gesture.

"Your young American friend seems quite sure of himself, Harry." Voldemort's expression was one of mildly piqued curiosity. "And his reputation precedes him – he's made an impression on several of my followers.

"You're supposed to have beaten Severus Snape in a duel," Voldemort said to Jon. "Do you think you would fare as well with me?"

"That depends," Jon said curtly. "On whether you have the courage to duel me or not."

The other Death Eaters bristled at the insult, but Voldemort merely chuckled. "Such arrogance in one so young. It's quite refreshing, actually. Very well! Crabbe, return our young friend here his wand."

Crabbe pulled Jon's wand from his belt and tossed it carelessly into the air. It spun and twisted in mid-flight, curving into Jon's grasp, where he held it before him, pointing in Voldemort's direction.

"The mark of a good duelist," Voldemort continued, "is his ability to anticipate and deflect his enemy's curses. _Crucio_!"

At the sudden attack Jon collapsed onto the ground, writhing in agony; Hermione and Luna screamed while Ginny looked away. Deirdre looked on, anguished, while Harry and Ron watched tensely as Jon thrashed about. After a dozen seconds Voldemort lowered his wand and Jon's form slumped, inert.

"It is readily apparent," Voldemort said contemptuously, "you have no idea whom it is you are dealing with."

"You monster!" Hermione screamed. "You've killed him!"

Ron and Harry turned toward Jon's fallen form to help him, but at a wave of Voldemort's wand both of their legs became immobile.

"No need to be in such a hurry, Harry," Voldemort sneered. "The Mudblood is wrong, I haven't killed him – yet. Let us see how long it takes him to revive, then we'll have done and move on to the next victim of your foolishness."

"You may find that harder to accomplish than you think," Jon said suddenly, standing more quickly than anyone Harry had ever known to after suffering the Cruciatus Curse. There was real anger in his voice as he said, "You don't know whom you're dealing with either, it seems. Maybe you _are_ a half-wit."

At Jon's mention of the word, everything suddenly fell into place in Harry's brain. _Nitwit!_ It was the word Dumbledore had given him to unlock the compartment behind his portrait. It was _also_ one of the first words Harry had ever heard the Hogwarts professor speak, one of the "few words" he'd wanted to say at the start-of-term banquet. What were the other words Dumbledore had said? Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! What if one of those words would unlock the Room of Requirement?

Only for a moment did a look of shocked surprise show through the mask of Voldemort's serpent-like features. Then it was gone, replaced by cold appraisal. "Interesting. Your recovery is quite remarkable." Voldemort pointed his wand at Jon again, who held up his own wand as well. "Shall we see how well you fare against another so-called 'Unforgivable' Curse?"

"Bring it on, if you want," Jon said challengingly.

"No!" the others shouted, and Ginny added, "Jon, the Killing Curse can't be blocked!"

"So you've been told," Jon said, his eyes never leaving Voldemort's.

"Then this should prove instructive," Voldemort snarled. His eyes seemed to flash red as he shouted, "_Avada Kedavra_!"

Jon held his wand steady in front of him, but the jet of green light flashed, not at him, but to his right, where it struck Hermione. Her mouth formed an O of pure surprise and she seemed to hang, suspended for a moment in time, before beginning to fall. There was a _crack_ as the Leg-Locker Curse on Ron was broken and he caught and lowered her body to the ground. Hermione Granger was dead.


	36. Resurrection

**Chapter 36  
****RESURRECTION**

"HERMIONE!! NOOOOO!!!"

Harry, Ron and Jon had all screamed as they saw the green light strike her. There was another loud _CRACK_ and Harry's legs were able to move again.

"VOLDEMORT!!" he bellowed. He wanted nothing more at that moment than to kill Voldemort with his bare hands. Before he could do more than turn toward him, however, Voldemort had trained his wand next on Harry. "_Avada_ –!"

But Jon had thrust his own wand straight into the air. "_Erupto Patronum_!" he shouted. There was a brilliant flash and an expanding globe of silver-white light that passed harmlessly through Harry and the other Hogwarts students.

Voldemort and the Death Eaters, however, were all thrown back a dozen feet, as if hit with a Blasting Curse. They sprawled about, confused and trying to right themselves, as Jon shouted, "_Accio_ Wands!"

Each of their wands flew from the Death Eater holding it, landing unerringly in front of its owner. "Fight them!" Jon shouted. Harry immediately scooped up his own wand, as did Ginny, Luna and Deirdre. Ron, however, did not let go of Hermione's body; he held her tightly, sobbing.

Voldemort himself was staggered, nearly falling before he recovered and, snarling with rage, turned his attention back to Jon, who was already eager to face him.

"YOU WANTED A FIGHT, VOLDEMORT?!" Jon roared. "YOU'VE _GOT_ ONE!!" A beam of pure white light shot from the tip of his wand to Voldemort's, linking them together.

Harry, who had just taken advantage of Bellatrix's momentary distraction to Stupefy her, gaped in wonder: he thought Jon had somehow invoked _Priori Incantatem_ with Voldemort's wand, but the effect, however, was different – the beam that had joined his and Voldemort's wand three years before had been a deep gold. The beam now linking Jon and Voldemort's wands was a brilliant white, and growing brighter by the second.

Ginny was dueling Lucius Malfoy, while Luna fought Narcissa and Deirdre battled Wormtail. Harry wanted to help Ginny but Crabbe and Goyle, the last Death Eaters to recover, had trained their own wands on Jon. Harry shouted "_Protego_!" forming a shield to deflect their Stunning Spells.

Glancing back toward Ginny and Luna, Harry saw that Narcissa had the Body-Bind Curse put on her and that both of them were now dueling Lucius Malfoy. As he heard a cry of "_Expelliarmus_!" he turned to see Deirdre's wand flying from her hand. Wormtail ran toward her, drawing back his wand for a final curse. Instead of fleeing, however, Deirdre ran toward _him_. Startled, Wormtail froze and Deirdre spun as she reached him, transforming into centaur form as she did so. Her powerful back legs kicked out, catching Wormtail full in the chest and flinging him backward. He flew nearly twenty feet, hitting the ground and lying still.

At that moment the duel between Jon and Voldemort ended in a tremendous _BOOM_ as Voldemort's wand literally exploded, throwing him backwards onto the steps of the school, and the beam of white light expanded into a brilliant sphere floating before Jon. It was so bright that everyone, Jon included, was forced to shield their eyes from the light. A wind began, whirling around and around the edge of the sphere until it sounded like they were standing next to a cyclone. At the same time Harry heard a sound, like a chorus of voices, singing in the distance; it seemed to come from within the sphere itself. Whatever the sphere was, it didn't seem to be of Voldemort's making; lying half-stunned on the steps of Hogwarts, he stared at it with as much surprise as Harry had.

Jon extended his wand toward the sphere, mouthing words Harry couldn't hear over the wind. He seemed oblivious to Crabbe and Goyle, who were trying to break Harry's Shield Charm; Harry Disarmed them and shouted "_Levicorpus_!" – both Death Eaters turned, suspended in the air by their ankles, their wands now out of reach.

A wave of giddiness suddenly overtook Harry; he thought he'd been Stunned for a moment. Looking about, he realized he'd spun back toward Voldemort, his wand pointing up toward the castle, above the glowing sphere floating between Jon and Voldemort. He glanced to his left; Crabbe and Goyle were still floundering with their ankles pointing skyward. He Summoned their wands and pocketed them.

That left only Lucius Malfoy among the Death Eaters; but he, seeing Crabbe and Goyle helpless, became enraged and, screaming "_Crucio_!" caught Luna for a moment before forced by Ginny's Shield Charm pressing against him to release it.

The sphere, which had been floating before Jon, had begun to slowly move toward him. As Harry watched, it touched the tip of his wand, which seemed to draw it in, becoming blindingly white itself.

Jon fell to his knees in front of Ron and Hermione's body, turning with the wand in his hand toward her. "No," Ron said weakly, "Don't touch her –" His arm went out to stop the wand, but Jon's hand slipped under his and the wand touched Hermione's chest.

A sound, like a great rushing of air into a vacuum, shook the air around them, and the light blazing from the end of Jon's wand diffused into Hermione's body, which shook violently. Ron held her tightly, frightened by the spasms of her body, but after barely a second they stopped. A moment later, her chest expanded as she took a breath, and her eyes fluttered open.

Hermione was alive again.

"Oh my God!" Ron gasped, hugging her tightly. "You're alive!"

"Of c-course," she answered feebly. "H-how'd I get on the ground?" But Ron was no longer listening. He looked up at Harry, his eyes wide with shock and disbelief, then at Jon.

"How can Hermione be alive?" Deirdre said in astonishment. "She was _dead_!" She turned to Jon, her eyes filled with questions.

Harry was stunned as well. It was impossible to bring someone back from the dead, but Jon had done it, somehow.

But they had no time to discuss it – there was still Voldemort and Malfoy to contend with.

Voldemort had pulled himself erect. Standing on the front steps of Hogwarts, he screamed at the last standing Death Eater. "Lucius! Destroy them!"

Jon turned and pointed his wand at Malfoy, as did Harry, Ginny, and Luna. Deirdre, still in centaur form, turned to look at him as well.

"I freed you from Azkaban!" Voldemort shouted. "Now, fight for your master! For victory!"

But Malfoy, under so many wands, drew away from them, his eyes wide. Harry could see fear in them, fear as deep as the day Voldemort returned, castigating his followers who had left him for dead in the forests of Albania for fourteen years. With not even a glance toward his wife, lying on the ground under the Body-Bind Curse, he turned and ran for the gates of Hogwarts.

Ginny shouted and sent a Stunner after him, but missed and Harry said, "Let him go." He turned back to Jon and saw him striding toward Voldemort, his wand extended.

Voldemort, now alone and wandless, turned and ran up the steps toward the doors of the school, but as he approached them, they swung shut. Voldemort pulled against the handles but they would not budge. He spun to face Jon, who had followed him up the steps and pushed him against the front doors, his wand against the Dark Lord's breast.

"I really, _really_, want to kill you," Jon breathed, his voice barely more than a whisper. Voldemort glared back at him, his red eyes full of deepest loathing and yes, fear as well, Harry knew. Harry wondered if the American would do it: Jon had never seemed more angry, more beyond reason or control, than at this moment.

Finally, however, Jon shook his head and moved away slightly, letting the wand fall to his side. "It's not my place to do that, though," he said, looking back at Harry. "It has to be your call."

Harry started toward, but stopped as Ginny reached a hand toward him. "Wait, Harry," she said. "Where did you send your Patronus?"

"I sent a Patronus?" Harry said, surprised. "When?"

"It was right after you stopped those two Death Eaters," Luna said, pointing toward Crabbe and Goyle. "It ran into Hogwarts."

_To do what? To find whom_? Harry wondered. _Who could he want to send word to inside the castle –_

Of course! He'd sent _the word_!

"Bind him," Harry said, pointing to Voldemort. Jon flicked his wand and heavy ropes shot out, pressing Voldemort's arms tightly against his body. "Do the same to the others."

Shortly Bellatrix, Narcissa, Crabbe and Goyle were revived, bound and seated on the ground in front of the staircase leading up to the school doors. Harry, Jon and Voldemort were standing at the top of the stairs, Voldemort bound between them. Ginny, Luna and Deirdre now held their wands on the Death Eaters, while Ron brought a weak and disoriented Hermione off to one side, holding her in his arms and murmuring soothing words to her.

"What are we waiting for, Harry?" Ginny finally asked anxiously, as a minute passed with nothing else happening.

"We're waiting for someone to pop up," Harry said.

"Who?" Deirdre asked.

_Crack_.

"Harry Potter has given Dobby the words!" Dobby said happily, bowing so low his long nose nearly touched the ground in front of him. "Now, Dobby has brought him the – _eeek_!"

Dobby was holding up a sack that appeared too small to hold all three of the boxes Harry remembered; the house-elf had caught sight of Voldemort, standing between Jon and Harry, and flinched violently, leaping behind Harry and peeking out around him. "It is – it is He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!"

"Yes, Dobby, it's him," Harry said, nodding wearily.

"Has Harry Potter bested him?" Dobby asked, looking at the ropes binding the Dark Lord.

"Almost," Harry said. Turning to Jon he said, "Bring him along, let's get this over with."

They led Voldemort down the front steps of the school and stopped in front of the bound Death Eaters. Harry took the sack from Dobby and looked inside. The inside was larger than it appeared; he could see the boxes and something else inside the sack. Harry pulled out the boxes, opening each one in turn and taking out the locket, the cup, and the helmet and setting them on the ground.

Bellatrix and Narcissa exchanged furtive glances. Harry, seeing them, said "I suspect Voldemort never told you there was more than one of these, even though he gave clues to the Death Eaters gathered about him when he returned." _I_, Voldemort had said, three years ago, _who have gone further than anybody along the path that leads to immortality_.

Bellatrix cursed him, but silently; there was still a Silencing Charm on her. Ignoring her, Harry turned back to the sack Dobby had brought the boxes in, reaching in to retrieve the final object it contained. His hand came out holding – the Sorting Hat.

"Why did you bring this with you?" Harry asked, looking at Dobby.

"Harry Potter told Dobby to fetch it along when he brought the boxes to you," Dobby said, looking anxious. "Does Harry Potter need something else?"

"No…" Harry said bemusedly, staring at the Hat. It looked – well, _asleep_, for lack of a better word; its jagged tear of a mouth and folds where the eyes would be were closed. He hadn't been this close to it, touching it, since … since …

"Since I fought Tom Riddle's diary," Harry finished, aloud, looking up at Voldemort, whose eyes locked onto his.

"Harry!" Ginny shouted. "Careful! Don't let him do anything to your mind –"

"Don't worry," Harry said, still staring at the Dark Lord. "He can't do anything. He's already tried that, tried to get inside my head. He won't try again."

"Don't be so sure of that, boy," Voldemort hissed.

"You shall _not_ harm Harry Potter!" Dobby shouted. He looked fully prepared to fight Voldemort, if need be, even though it would mean certain death.

"Dobby," Harry said, thinking quickly. "There are still some students and teachers inside the school."

"Dobby knows, Harry Potter," the house-elf said, nodding vigorously. "Some of them, bad, _bad_ boys, chased Dobby, to see what was in the bag Dobby carried, until he remembered to Apparate here."

"Do you know a spell," Harry asked, "that can put them to sleep until we come to wake them up?"

Dobby looked shocked. "Sir! Harry Potter mustn't think Dobby would harm any wizard, even by accident!"

"Well, that's the problem, Dobby," Harry said at once. "Some of the students want to harm other students –" Dobby looked stricken "— maybe some of the teachers as well, and I want you to put them to sleep before anyone else can be hurt. Can you please do that, Dobby?"

Dobby was wringing his hands, looking upset. "Dobby will have to punish himself _very_ thoroughly afterwards, Harry Potter, but he will do it."

"No, Dobby! Don't punish –" But with a loud crack the house-elf had disappeared.

Sighing, Harry turned his attention back to the Sorting Hat. The last time he'd had it, back in the Chamber of Secrets, he had pulled the Sword of Gryffindor from it to kill the basilisk, which had nearly killed him in return as one of its fangs penetrated his arm. It was that fang, and its venom, that he'd used to destroy the diary, which had been Tom Riddle's first Horcrux. Fortunately, Gryffindor's sword, which had been drenched in basilisk blood and venom as well, had not been harmed –

Harry stopped, tasting an idea. If the Sword of Gryffindor had not been harmed by basilisk venom, which could destroy Horcruxes, perhaps he could use _the Sword_ to destroy these Horcruxes!

Turning the Hat over, Harry looked into it, thinking intently, _I need, I need the Sword. Please send the Sword_… He closed his eyes, concentrating mightily on the Sword of Gryffindor. _Please, it must come, I need it_…

"Look!" Luna shouted, and at the same moment Harry felt the grip of a sword in his hand. He pulled it free and opened his eyes: the Sword of Gryffindor was in his hand, its silver blade and ruby-encrusted handle gleaming in the sunlight.

Glancing at the Dark Lord, Harry once again saw a flicker of fear in Voldemort's eyes. He held the blade up, noting that Voldemort unconsciously tried to shrink away, and said, "I think you have reason to fear this sword. If I'm right, it can destroy Horcruxes, like basilisk venom can. That was why you wanted this sword, when you came back to Hogwarts years ago. Not to make it a Horcrux, but to keep it from destroying the ones you'd created."

Voldemort said nothing. Harry walked over to where the three Horcruxes lay and selected the locket, the smallest one, placing it about ten feet in front of the Dark Lord. Holding the sword in both hands over it, he thrust the tip downward against the locket's heavy golden case.

But the sword tip would not penetrate the locket, no matter how he tried. After half a dozen attempts, he stopped, frustrated and angry at his foolishness. He'd been wrong about the Sword, after all.

Jon, however, had watched him carefully, and suggested, "Harry, why don't you open the locket and stab it from the inside?"

"No one knows the secret of Slytherin's locket but myself," Voldemort said, contemptuously. "And you will never prise that from me."

_The secret of Slytherin_. Harry turned to Voldemort with a calculating look. What did Voldemort tend to rely on as Slytherin's Heir –? His ability to speak Parseltongue!

Harry knelt down next to the locket, looking intently at the serpentine _S_, encrusted with small green stones, very much resembling a snake, and said, "_Open_."

There were several gasps, from the Death Eaters watching as well as Luna and Deirdre. With a small _click_ the locket popped open. As it did, within the glass lining the inside of the locket a pair of human eyes appeared: Tom Riddle's eyes, Harry realized, before they had become red and slitted.

Harry raised the sword again, but as he stared down at the locket the voice of Tom Riddle spoke to him, soft and serpent-like.

"_Foolish boy, you have never understood the power you now wish to throw away! I am the key to limitless power, to immortality!_

"Harry!" Ginny screamed. "Destroy it! It's trying to stop you!"

Harry looked up, then raised the sword higher, but the eyes within the locket spoke again. "_I can show you magic beyond your dreams, Harry Potter! Magic beyond your wildest imaginings_!"Both Ginny and Luna were shouting at him now to destroy the locket. Harry closed his eyes, but the sound of Riddle's voice only intensified.

"_Think of what you could do with such power, Potter! With my knowledge, you could do things you only dream of now_!"

"And what of your body?" Harry asked grimly. "What shall become of it? Should I kill it, only to have it return again and again?"

"_It is no concern of mine_," Riddle's eyes narrowed. "_I have already been cast off – should I give allegiance to he who threw me away_?" The eyes held Harry's gaze…hypnotic, mesmerizing…

"You lie," Harry said, and thrust the Sword of Gryffindor downward. There was a clang of metal against metal. Both the locket and the real Voldemort screamed. A surge of pain exploded in his scar – Voldemort's scream was in his head as well as his ears. Trying to shut his mind to it, Harry drove the sword harder into the locket. The scream slowly died away. When Harry withdrew the sword from the locket, the eyes were gone from behind the broken pieces of glass.

Bellatrix was straining madly, silently against her bonds; the Silencing Charm still kept her from speaking aloud. Narcissa shook uncontrollably, as if she were freezing even in the middle of June. Only Crabbe and Goyle sat quietly, apparently content to believe that Voldemort would soon reassert his power, destroy Harry and his friends, and release them. Wormtail, who had not moved since Deirdre kicked him, lay quietly.

Wordlessly, Harry attacked the other two Horcruxes, jabbing the sword into Hufflepuff's cup and Gryffindor's Helm, piercing them both, while Voldemort and the Death Eaters looked on. Each Horcrux screamed as its fragment of soul departed to whatever fate awaited it. Bellatrix was shrieking silently at Harry while Narcissa looked away, unable to even bear watching the destruction of the Dark Lord's soul and her failure. After the first Horcrux, Voldemort had remained silent, although the searing pain in Harry's scar remained.

Finally stepping back from the broken pieces of the Founders' artifacts, Harry put his hand to his scar. It was even more painful than when he had begun – Voldemort was enraged, furious with him – but Harry had to keep on until the final Horcrux had been destroyed.

"Now," he said slowly, "there is only one Horcrux left. Where is the snake, Nagini?"

"No one has seen it, Harry," Ginny said, looking around, as were Jon, Luna and Deirdre, and Ron and Hermione as well, off to one side. "Maybe it's somewhere in the castle."

"I don't think so," Harry said, still holding his forehead. "Voldemort knew, or at least suspected, that I'd found out about his Horcruxes. If anything, he has it hidden or well-protected, probably both. It may be here, Disillusioned like the Death Eaters were."

"We can find out." Hermione had spoken; she was slowly getting to her feet despite Ron's protests. She raised her wand and said, "_Sauromenum revelio_!" A moment later she pointed toward the west, behind them. "It's out there somewhere. I didn't get much from the spell – the snake is probably Disillusioned, like you thought, Harry."

His scar still throbbing, Harry turned to face west. "Let's try this the easy way first," he said. "Ginny, Luna, stand ready to cast Freezing Charms." They both nodded and readied themselves.

Harry pointed his wand ahead of him and shouted "_Accio_ Nagini!" There was a rustling of grass and a muffled hiss. If Nagini was being pulled toward him, it was well Disillusioned – invisible or nearly so. "When you see it, Freeze it!" he shouted, then pointed his wand again and said, "_Aguamenti_!"

A spray of water shot from the tip of his wand, like a nozzle set on wide. As the water sprayed out, a snake-like outline could be seen rushing toward Harry, hissing as it came. Ginny and Luna both shouted "_Frigio_!"

The water froze instantly around Nagini, its hissing cut off abruptly. It fell, amid a shower of ice crystals, at Harry's feet. Harry hefted the Sword of Gryffindor in his left hand, wincing from the pain still throbbing through his scar, and raised it above him to strike.

_Yes! Kill the snake!_

His arm was about to move of its own accord when Harry realized that the thought had not been his own. It had been Voldemort's. Why would Voldemort wish the snake, his final Horcrux, _dead_?

Only if it were _not a Horcrux_!

"Pretty clever," Harry said, turning round to face Voldemort again. "Pretending that your pet snake was the last Horcrux. If you hadn't given it away just now –" Harry pointed to his still-painful scar "— I never would've rumbled to it."

"Shall I tell you what my first choice would have been, Harry Potter?" Voldemort said in his high, clear voice. "You will find it most ironic, I'm sure. She was a very special woman, your mother."

Harry's entire body went cold. "No," he whispered, so softly no one else heard him.

"She, of anyone I've ever met save for Dumbledore, and of course, myself, impressed me with her intelligence and her will. She was admired and liked among her peers at Hogwarts – even the Slytherins respected her power – especially your dearest enemy, Harry – Severus Snape."

"No," Harry said, more loudly this time, as if saying the word could deny reality or the truth he felt in the Dark Lord's words.

"I intended to use your death to make her my seventh and final Horcrux. She would never even have known. But she chose to sacrifice herself for you, and in so doing almost brought me to ruin.

"Now, seventeen years later, we come to this. You will never find the final Horcrux, Harry Potter! Even if you _kill_ me –" Voldemort's serpentine face was a mask of rage, fear and pain "— _I will return_."

"Monster!" Harry shouted. He turned and in a few steps he stood almost toe-to-toe with the Dark Lord, pressing his wand against Voldemort's throat. His breath was rasping in and out of his lungs. His and Voldemort's rage and loathing mingled as he felt the words of the Killing Curse in his throat.

"Do it," Voldemort said softly. "_Do it_."

"Nooo, Harry, NOOO!" Hermione screamed, and both Ginny and Ron were shouting at him as well to stop.

At that moment, however, Harry no longer cared about his life, or anyone else's for that matter. It would be so simple, so easy, to shout the Killing Curse and be done with Voldemort forever. It was no one's concern, really, but his. Harry's mouth opened, but before the words could reach his tongue, another voice rang out.

"Potter, stop!"

Harry turned, jolted. That oily, disdainful sneer could only belong to one person. Standing beside the other Death Eaters was the greasy-haired, sallow-skinned figure of Severus Snape. Unexpectedly, Wormtail was standing as well, his expression a mask of fear.

"SNAPE!!" Harry bellowed. His wand snapped forward to point at Snape's chest, as did Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Luna's wands.

"Greetings, Severus," Voldemort said, almost conversationally. "I began to wonder if you had left us, as Lucius did."

"Hardly," Snape said coldly. "I believe the time has come to reckon up all accounts."

"I agree," Voldemort said, equally cold. "We shall soon see where your true loyalties lie."

As if in response, Snape pushed Pettigrew forward. "Here is your final Horcrux, Potter."

There was several seconds of breathless silence. Finally Ron said, incredulously, "Him? _Wormtail_? You're JOKING!"

But Harry saw it immediately. "Brilliant," he breathed. "I would never have suspected _Peter Pettigrew_ of being a Horcrux."

"Of course you wouldn't," Snape said, sneering. "Pettigrew has always been underestimated. Sirius Black considered him almost beneath notice, as did you father, Potter, and Remus Lupin. None of them recognized that Wormtail's talent lay in his ability to attach himself to wizards he could be of use to, wizards who would protect him in return for his obedience and loyalty.

"First, in school, with the motley crew that called themselves the Marauders; then, with your father and mother, on whom he had a rather myopic crush; then on to the Dark Lord, when he saw how the winds of change were blowing.

"After the Dark Lord's fall, when he went into hiding, Wormtail followed suit, attaching himself to the ragtag Weasley brood until his return, fourteen years later."

Wormtail was looking at Snape with something like anger, as if these secrets were not to be revealed; or at least, at his discretion and not Snape's. But Snape, ignoring Wormtail's affronted glare, pressed inexorably on with a malicious lilt in his voice.

"The Dark Lord, seeing an advantage in making such a wretched, self-effacing creature his final Horcrux, murdered Bertha Jorkins and placed the seventh part of his soul into him, shortly before he rose again.

"Quite a clever gambit, wouldn't you say, Potter?" Snape finished mockingly. "To destroy the final Horcrux, you will also have to commit murder, at the very least – tearing your own soul apart and making yourself even more like the Dark Lord."

"No," Harry said in disbelief, shaking his head.

"No!" Wormtail echoed piteously. "Have mercy!"

"You need have no fear of Potter, Wormtail," Snape said, contempt in every syllable he spat at Pettigrew. "He will not kill you – but I will, if need be!" Pettigrew shrank away from him, cowering.

"Severus," Voldemort said, and again Harry heard the taint of fear in his voice. "Reconsider. We can do great things together. With Hogwarts under our control, we can teach those who will do our bidding and control those who will not. With that power we can rule Britain. Once the Sorcerer's Stone is remade you and I will have all the time we need to make the world ours."

"And why," Snape said coldly, "should I wish to share the world with _you_, my Lord? Apart from your skill at Leglimency and your drive to acquire as much magic and immortality as possible, you are hardly worthy of such an ambition.

"You have consistently underestimated both Dumbledore and this boy." Snape waved a disdainful hand in Harry's direction. "Your goals have changed, time and again, with your situation at any given moment. They could just as easily change once more, to place me out of your favor. Me, the one person who has done more for you than anyone – Wormtail included!"

Voldemort scowled. "So, your intentions are revealed at last," he said, his high, clear voice barely above a whisper. "You have thrown your lot in with weaklings and Mudbloods, and betrayed your own kind."

There was a glint in Snape's black eyes. "Hardly," he said, and raised his wand.

Harry felt himself go rigid and immobile, a sensation he'd felt all too often in the past – the Body-Bind Curse! Snape had cast it on the Hogwarts students and, apparently, Voldemort: even though he was out of Harry's eyesight Harry had not heard him move away.

Harry raged at himself as he watched, helplessly, as Snape walked almost casually toward him and Voldemort, collecting wands from Ginny, Luna, Ron and Hermione as he did so. Dropping the confiscated wands into a robe pocket, Snape stood between Harry and Jon, addressing Voldemort's frozen figure.

"Your death," Snape said, his tone casual but still carrying considerable threat, "will bring the acclaim that has for so long eluded me, standing in the shadow of those less worthy – men like Black, Potter and Dumbledore, not to mention those cretins at the Ministry of Magic, who believe they run the Wizarding World here in Britain.

"These students," and Harry saw Snape's arm pointing back to the students behind him, "will attest to the events as they remember them – Longbottom's death, at your hands, as well as your attempt to kill them; my timely arrival to rescue them from your Death Eaters, as well as Wormtail, held under an Imperius Curse for all these years, forced to fake his own death and live as a rat in the Weasley household until your return three years ago."

Snape turned toward Harry, and he felt hot breath on his neck as Snape hissed into his ear. "Yes, Potter. I want you to know, however temporarily, my real intentions." His voice became less harsh, but sounding no more sincere to Harry's ears, as he added, "You should know, as well, that I never wished for Professor Dumbledore's death, however necessary he may have felt it was."

"Now, let it be done," Snape whispered, then commanded, _"Accio!"_

The Sword of Gryffindor was wrenched from Harry's grasp; it flew upward, over his head, where Snape caught it in his left hand, pressed it against Voldemort's neck, and slashed sideways. Harry felt warm blood spatter against his exposed flesh. There was a horrible gurgling sound as Voldemort's breath and blood bubbled out of the wound. A normal man might have been decapitated by the razor-sharp edge of Gryffindor's blade, but Voldemort's snake-like skin had given him a measure of protection.

A hand pushed hard against Harry and a shock like electricity ran through him. He hit the ground and rolled, surprised to find that he _could_ roll. Opposite Snape, the same thing had happened to Jon. They both looked at each other a moment, then simultaneously rolled off the edge of the landing, on opposite sides.

Still spraying blood, Voldemort slammed both of his fists into Snape's chest, sending him sprawling backwards, falling down the stone staircase. Snape's head hit the edge of a step as he fell, and he landed in a heap at the bottom of the staircase, the Sword of Gryffindor clattering uselessly beside him as a pool of blood began to form under his head.

"WORMTAIL!! WAND!!" Voldemort screamed at Pettigrew, who bolted toward the grass where he'd been knocked unconscious earlier; apparently no one had thought to get his wand.

Harry, who'd rolled off the landing near where Wormtail had landed, picked himself painfully off the ground and sprinted forward, trying to grab Wormtail's wand before he did. Wormtail immediately changed tactics, grappling with Harry. Though smaller and over twice his age, the silver hand Voldemort had replaced the one Wormtail had sacrificed to bring Voldemort back was much more powerful than his real one. Pettigrew flung Harry away from him, snatched up his wand, and threw it toward the Dark Lord as he shouted, "HERE, MASTER!"

The wand spun through the air and landed unerringly in Voldemort's outstretched left hand. He immediately drew it across his own neck, staunching the flow of blood. In continuous motion, his left arm extended toward Harry, who'd rolled to his feet, but who was now wandless and too far from any cover.

"Now, Potter, _now_ is the moment of your death!" Voldemort shouted. He pointed the wand precisely at Harry's heart. "_Avada_ _Ke_—"

The Sword of Gryffindor slammed into Voldemort's chest, flinging him back against the entrance as it continued through his body, embedding itself in the thick wooden doors. Wormtail's wand flew from his hand, falling onto the landing next to where he'd stood. Harry looked to the bottom of the stairs, from where Jon had just thrown the sword after picking it up from beside Snape's unconscious form.

Voldemort shrieked in agony and gripped the handle with both hands, attempting to pull it free from the door, but it was embedded too deeply. After several seconds he stopped trying and cried out, "Wormtail! Help me!"

Wormtail, however, turned and bolted for the gates of Hogwarts, but Jon had recovered his wand from Snape's pocket and immobilized him with a Body-Bind Curse; Wormtail fell and skidded several yards before coming to a halt.

Harry walked to the base of the steps and looked down at the unconscious figure of Snape. Jon handed Harry his wand. Wordlessly, Harry walked over to where Wormtail had fallen and removed the Body-Bind Curse. "Stand up," he told Wormtail, not bothering to conceal his anger.

"H-Harry," Wormtail pleaded as he stood, cringing and cowering before him, "p-please d-don't kill me!"

"I'm not going to kill you," Harry snapped angrily. "But it's not like you don't deserve it!"

"I h-had no choice, Harry!" Wormtail protested. "I h-had to do as Voldemort ordered me to!"

"Don't give me that!" Harry exploded. "All of this comes down to the choice YOU made sixteen years ago to tell Voldemort where my parents were! If anyone DESERVES to die, it's YOU!!

"But now I can't kill either of you," Harry said bitterly. "Even if Voldemort _doesn't_ die from his wound. It would be murder." He pointed back toward the stairs, where Jon was slowly ascending to examine Voldemort. Glancing back at him fearfully in spite of Harry's words, they approached the Dark Lord, now transfixed to the doors of Hogwarts Castle with the Sword of Gryffindor.

There was now an angry red wound across Voldemort's neck, looking half-healed, as well as the sword that had passed through his chest. A normal man would be dead, with major arteries severed, but the magical enchantments Voldemort had laid upon this body were keeping him unnaturally alive, even with a mortal wound.

Wormtail, shaking almost uncontrollably by the time he reached the top of the stairs, avoided Voldemort's gaze. The Dark Lord's breathing was shallow and rapid. "What – what will happen to m-me?" Wormtail asked fearfully.

"Azkaban, I suppose," Harry said, looking at Voldemort. In spite of the expression of pain on his pale, lipless face, Voldemort gave the impression that the idea of putting him in prison was amusing.

Pettigrew shook his head violently. "No! I can't go in Azkaban, Harry!" he said, clutching at Harry's robe. "The other Death Eaters will kill me! It will be murder if you put me in there!"

Jon, bemused, said, "So, it's murder if we kill you, and murder if we put you in prison. That doesn't leave many options, does it?"

"What are you suggesting, then?" Harry asked sardonically. "That we let you _go_?"

Wormtail nodded eagerly. "Yes, yes!" As Harry and Jon both scowled he added quickly, "At least that way, I have a chance of living! I will have no one to help me now, _you've_ seen to that!"

Harry had no sympathy for Wormtail – the man had caused his parents' death, after all! – but neither did he want his death, either through his hand or another's. However, before he could think of something to say to the cowering Wormtail, Jon spoke up. "Harry, I think I have a way to solve this dilemma, and without anyone else having to die."

"How?" Harry asked. Wormtail looked at Jon skeptically.

"First things first," Jon said, taking out his wand. Wormtail backed away upon seeing it, but Jon gestured in the direction of the others behind them. Everyone – Bellatrix, Narcissa, Crabbe and Goyle, and Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Luna, and Deirdre – promptly fell over.

Startled, Harry instinctively pointed his wand at Jon. "What happened to them?" he demanded.

"Don't worry," Jon said mildly, ignoring Harry's wand. "They're just asleep. This is for your eyes only… and yours as well," he said, turning to Voldemort. "Let's get you fixed up."

He reached out with his left hand and effortlessly pulled the sword free from the door and Voldemort's body. Voldemort hissed in pain as the sword slid free, staggered and nearly fell; but with a wave of his wand Jon kept him upright, pressing him back against the doors.

As Harry watched in wonderment, with another wave of Jon's wand, Voldemort's neck wound vanished completely. A third wave and the open, bloody wound in Voldemort's chest sealed itself.

It wasn't the healing itself that so surprised Harry – he'd seen worse wounds healed by Madam Pomfrey – but the ease with which Jon had accomplished it: nonverbally and in mere seconds, especially for a mortal wound. "How could you do that?" he asked.

Jon spared him only a glance and a quick smile. "You saw me put Hermione's soul back into her body, Harry – mortal wounds should be a snap, compared to that."

"Speaking of Hermione –"

"We can talk about it later," Jon cut over him. "We should finish things with Voldemort first."

With a scream of rage, Voldemort suddenly lashed out. His right hand grabbed Harry's, the one holding his wand, and his thin but surprisingly strong fingers began to crush his hand. Harry cried out and tried to jerk free, but Voldemort's grip was too strong. At the same time his scar burned agonizingly, nearly forcing him to drop his wand from the pain alone. Voldemort's other hand grabbed Jon's face, tearing at it as Jon clutched at the Dark Lord's wrist with his own wand hand.

The bones were snapping in Harry's hand. He was trying to use his other hand to prise off Voldemort's fingers, but they were too strong. Voldemort's eyes flashed red as he squeezed even harder, trying to make Harry relinquish the grip on his wand.

Jon's free hand came up to Voldemort's chest. There was a loud BANG and Voldemort was thrown back against the front doors of the school, releasing Harry and Jon. Voldemort's hands flew over his head; metal cords snaked out from the iron bindings of the oaken doors and fastened around his wrists.

"Nice try," Jon snapped, with cold fury, at Voldemort, who made no reply. Jon's face was torn by several gashes, and one eye was bloody and closed; it looked like Voldemort had gouged it out. Harry was holding his hand gingerly: it was bloody and several fingers looked like their bones were crushed to powder. "I'm sorry, Harry," Jon said apologetically. "I didn't think Voldemort had anything left to fight with." His finger touched Harry's hand; a sudden warmth flooded into it and the fingers straightened of their own accord. Harry wiggled his fingers: the pain was completely gone.

Jon covered his ravaged face with his own hands, drawing them down from forehead to chin. As they passed over his features the gashes disappeared. He blinked and both eyes looked back at Harry again. Harry had never seen Healing techniques like these before. Or, in fact, like _anything_ Jon had done in the past few minutes. He stared at Jon, nonplussed, as the latter reached into his robe, fished out a dragonskin glove and handed it to Harry, indicating he should put it on. "Hold out that hand," Jon said, and when Harry did he pointed his wand into the palm.

As Harry watched, a small, clear sphere appeared in the center of the dragonskin glove's palm. "This," Jon said. "is something like a Horcrux, but rather than holding a fragment of a person's soul it can contain their entire essence, body and soul, together." Harry's other hand came up automatically, but Jon said quickly, "_Don't_ touch it, Harry! If this touches anyone's bare skin, it will draw them inside it forever."

"What is inside there?" Harry wanted to know.

"Paradise," Jon replied. "Whatever a person placed inside this sphere wants, it will happen for them."

Harry looked at the sphere. "So… if they wanted to rule the world, kill anyone they wanted, even bring people back from the dead…"

"It will make that a reality for them," Jon nodded. "Absolutely anything they want. All you need to do," he said, pointing at Voldemort, "is touch it anywhere against his flesh."

Harry looked at Voldemort, and there again was fear, even _terror_, on his face. "No, Potter!" he shouted, trying to shrink away, pushing himself against the oaken doors of Hogwarts in a vain attempt to avoid the sphere. "Kill me if you dare, but do NOT try to deceive me about it!"

"It's not a deception," Jon said. "It's real enough –"

"LIAR!" Voldemort screamed. "DO NOT –"

Harry pressed the sphere against Voldemort's neck, and in a flash of light and a soft _crack_, the Dark Lord disappeared.

Harry slumped back, feeling drained. Voldemort was gone.

He was startled, a moment later, when Wormtail spoke. "He d-didn't want to go there, did he?"

"No, Harry said, looking at the sphere. "He didn't." Harry hadn't quite worked out _why_, just yet. Did he think Jon lied about the sphere?

"Can I go to a place like that?" Wormtail asked, hopefully.

"You would _want_ to go that place, even though Voldemort didn't?" Jon asked, curious.

"To be given everything I want, whenever I wanted it?" Wormtail asked unbelievingly, as if the answer were obvious. "Of _course_ I would! Who wouldn't?"

"Voldemort, obviously," Jon said with a shrug. But you can use this one as well, if you want – there's more than enough room in that universe for the both of you."

"We can never come back?" Wormtail asked, to be certain. "Neither of us, never?"

"Right," Jon said. "Neither of you, never."

"I'll go, then," Wormtail said. "It sounds like – I'll be taken care of, there." He looked into Harry's eyes, and Harry could see the profound regret written there. "I'm – I'm sorry, H-Harry, for what I done to James, and Lily. I n-never wanted her… to be hurt." Peter looked away from Harry, pulling down on his collar to bare some of his skin. Harry touched his bare flesh and Peter Pettigrew disappeared in a flash of white light.

Harry sighed and looked at the sphere. The afternoon sun was glinting off its crystal surface, and Harry thought he perceived random movements coming from inside the sphere. "Are they really in there?" he asked.

"Yes," Jon said. He pointed his wand at the sphere and a gold sheathing appeared around it, and a small ring with a gold chain. "And now, it is sealed forever. Here," he said, handing it to Harry. "Put it around your neck." Harry took it, looking wary, but slipped the chain around his neck and under his shirt.

"And now," he said, unable to contain himself, "how in the _hell_ are you able to do these things?"

Jon opened his mouth as if to speak; but he stopped and glanced around at the students and Death Eaters who lay sleeping on the front lawn of Hogwarts. "It may be a bit long in the telling, Harry. Before I tell you, we should get our friends awakened and hand the Death Eaters over to the Ministry of Magic."

Harry looked round as well. "Alright," he said finally. "Later, then. But it had better be a good story."

"Oh, it is," Jon said. "It is. You can trust me on that one."

***

It was quite some time later before they were able to return to the subject of Jon's magical abilities, however. After awakening Ron and Hermione (and forestalling their questions as well) they had to decide what to do about the Death Eaters lying about on the front lawn of the school as well as any other students who might be working with them inside.

There were other questions as well: What to do with Professor Snape – was he a Death Eater or a hero? ("I say Death Eater," Ron decided with a shrug. "We can chuck him in with them and let the Ministry sort him out later.") What had become of the students and teachers who'd remained behind – had Dobby put everyone to sleep, friend and foe alike? By the time they had awakened Ginny, Luna, and Deirdre, secured Snape and the other Death Eaters, and had gone looking in the castle, the only person left awake was Professor McGonagall, who'd managed to convince him that, as Dumbledore's successor as Head of Hogwarts, she was his employer and neither a student nor a teacher, but an administrator.

"The next time, Potter," McGonagall said, giving him an alarmingly stern stare, "you set a house-elf loose to run amok through the school please tell him that teachers are off-limits, won't you?" But the corner of her mouth had a slight turn in it.

"Yes ma'am," Harry said, quite humbly.

There were some sad moments as well. Neville Longbottom and Horace Slughorn were both mourned as fallen heroes who died opposing Voldemort, as had many others in the past three years. Most of the Hogwarts students elected to return to the school for a memorial service, held the following Monday in the Great Hall. Luna Lovegood gave Neville's eulogy, and she spoke with tearful and heartfelt compassion of the gentle young man who loved her, loved all his friends at Hogwarts, but most of all loved the life he'd been given, in spite of all its twists and turns, setbacks and failures. "For how else can we learn," she asked them all, in closing, "if we do not try?"

Professor McGonagall spoke on behalf of Professor Slughorn, describing his deep joy of teaching and life, his comforts of rich food and fine wine and spirits, and the many friendships he'd cultivated over his many years of teaching at Hogwarts, including the last two years he spent there. "He will be missed," she told those gathered in the Hall. "But more importantly, he will be remembered."

After the service, Harry, Ron and Hermione were talking quietly about Neville when Luna approached them on the arm of a slightly cross-eyed, white-haired gentlemen she presented as her father, Xenophilius Lovegood, editor of _The Quibbler_.

"Quite pleased to meet you at last," Mr. Lovegood murmured, shaking each of their hands in turn. Luna's told me so much about each of you. Ah, poor Neville! And I was so looking forward to having him in the family. He could identify a plant faster than anyone I've ever met."

"Daddy," Luna leaned toward her father's ear. "I want to have a word with Harry and then we can leave, will that be alright?"

"Of course, love, of course," Mr. Lovegood said, and Luna put her arm in Harry's and walked off a ways where they could talk privately.

"I'm going back home with Daddy," she said. "He's quite torn up about Neville, actually; I thought it would be best not to leave him alone."

"And how are _you_ – er – getting on with things?" Harry asked, concerned.

"Oh, I'm fine," she said. "I've only cried myself to sleep the last two nights, actually."

"Right, but… he's only been dead three days, Luna."

"Hmm, I'll probably need some more time, then," she said thoughtfully. "Harry, there is something I wanted to ask you," she added seriously.

"What's that?"

"Your friend, the boy from America – will you ask him a question for me, the next time you see him?"

"Yes, of course," Harry said. "What is it?"

"Will you ask him if he's ever seen any Grey-Tufted Horsplorts where he comes from."

"Any – what did you say?"

"Grey-Tufted Horsplorts," Luna repeated. "They look rather like great gray owls except they have large ear tufts and can breathe fire. There are supposed to be a lot of them over in America. Daddy's looking for some tail feathers and I'd like to surprise him. I thought perhaps if Jon could find some over there I could have him send me some."

"I'll remember to ask him," Harry nodded, keeping his face straight.

"Thank you!" She gave him a quick hug and they walked back to where Ron and Hermione were listening to Mr. Lovegood expound on his quest to locate a Crumple-Horned Snorkack. Both of them appeared profoundly glad to see Harry and Luna again.

"Daddy, " Luna said, putting her arm in his as she started toward the exit. "What do you think about stopping in East Riding on the way home and picking up some Freshwater Plimpys?"

"My dear!" Mr. Lovegood looked at her reproachfully. "What of our own pond Plimpies?"

"Oh, they're fine, too," Luna replied. "I just thought you might enjoy some East Riding Plimpies for a bit of change…" Father and daughter disappeared through the doors of the Great Hall.

"Blimey," Ron said, looking after her. "I'm going to miss hearing some of the things she gets on about."

Things had stayed so busy around Hogwarts that none of them had even considered what had occurred after they'd left Diagon Alley Saturday afternoon until Monday evening, when Ron received a note to report to McGonagall's office.

"Huh," Ron snorted after finishing the note. "Took their ruddy time about it, didn't they?"

"Is that all it said, then?" Hermione took the note and scanned it again quickly.

_

* * *

_

Dear Mr. Weasley,

_Please report to my office promptly at 6 p.m. Monday evening. This concerns your participation in the Vault Tournament this Saturday last. It may be advisable to bring Mr. Potter and Miss Granger along as well._

_Sincerely,  
__Professor Minerva McGonagall  
__P.S. The password is "honeyed mead."_

* * *

"Why would she want us along?" Harry wondered, reading the note after Hermione had finished.

"I dunno – as witnesses, maybe?" Ron speculated.

"There were more than enough witnesses," Hermione said absently, "without needing to have your two best friends do that, Ron."

At the appointed time, they presented themselves to the stone gargoyle and Ron spoke the password. Immediately the gargoyle leapt aside and they proceeded up the spiral staircase to the top, where Ron, after getting a reassuring nod from Harry and Hermione, knocked on the door to the Head's office.

"Come in," Professor McGonagall's voice answered, and the three of them entered. The headmistress was behind her desk, a cup of hot tea by her right elbow. In front of her were six chairs, positioned in a half-circle; in three of them sat a wizard and two goblins. The wizard was Bill Weasley; he looked solemnly at Ron and did not smile.

The two goblins Harry had never seen before, as far as he knew, but they both looked rather impressive. The goblin sitting next to McGonagall's desk stared at them with beady, narrowed eyes as he fingered an elaborately curled mustache. Between him and Bill was probably the oldest goblin Harry had ever seen; he was bald except for a fringe of white hair around each ear and a while, double-pointed beard. His long, gnarled fingers wrapped around a silver cane with a grip that looked like a muzzle of a dragon; Harry would have guessed, if pressed, that it was of a Swedish Short-Snout.

"Please be seated, all of you," McGonagall indicated the three empty chairs opposite Bill and the two goblins. Harry took the seat nearest McGonagall's desk, letting Ron have the middle empty chair; this was primarily his affair, so he should have the center. "These three gentlemen," McGonagall said to Ron, indicating Bill and the goblins. "Have traveled from Gringotts Wizarding Bank to deliver their ruling on your opening of the Vault in the Gringotts Vault Tournament." Harry looked for any indication in her face what the ruling would be, but McGonagall's face was etched in stone. "Gentlemen," she said, turning to them. "The floor is yours."

The ancient-looking goblin in the middle spoke immediately. "I'll get right to the point," he said, his voice sounding like gravel being shaken in a box. "You did not open the Vault within the specified time limit of 15 minutes, and therefore your attempt was ruled Unopened."

"WHAT?!" Ron shouted, jumping to his feet. Both goblins jumped as well, and Bill put up both hands, motioning Ron to sit back down. Ron did, but leaned forward and hissed, "I know damned well I opened it, Bill! I pulled down on the lever and the door made a loud noise and I heard air rushing through it!"

"I heard it, too," Bill said. "I remember thinking, _It's open! _when I heard that. However –" he glanced at the two goblins next to him, looking unhappy. "There's a difference of opinion on the ruling."

"How do you mean?" Hermione was looking at all three Gringotts men with an appraising air. "Whose opinion do you mean?"

Bill glanced toward the two goblins. "Let me make introductions. The first gentleman –" he indicated the goblin furthest from him "— is Gornuk, the Bank's Truth-Speaker – we would call him a solicitor. Or rather, that would be his equivalent title in a Muggle bank."

Bowing slightly in his chair, Bill introduced the elderly goblin sitting next to him. "This is Artag, Chief Goblin and President of Gringotts Wizarding Bank. It is their ruling –"

"— it is the ruling of the _Vault Tournament Judges Committee_," Artag corrected testily, thumping his cane on the floor, "that the referee must _rule_ that the door of the Vault was unlocked and that any and all beings had clear and unrestricted access to its contents, as stated in Rule 4 of the Tournament rules. _Thinking_ the door is open is not _ruling_ that it is open."

"I did not call any other competitors to the podium that day," Bill pointed out, "after the last contestant left the stage."

"There were no other competitors that day to attempt to open the Vault!" Gornuk snorted.

"There _was_," Bill corrected the goblin. "But he waived his turn by Disapparating after he saw Ron pull the lever down and heard the clank of the locking pins.

"That is a conjecture as to the intentions of another," Gornuk sneered. "Inadmissible."

"It is just as much _your_ conjecture to say that I did not rule the Vault was Opened," Bill said. His voice had remained calm but there was an edge to it that Harry had rarely heard before.

"Wait a minute," Ron said, holding up his hands. "Before we go any further, just _what_ is in the Vault?"

"We don't know," Bill said at once. "After you and the others disappeared, just before your 15 minutes were up, I declared that the Tournament was over. I was _about_ to add –" Bill looked significantly at the two goblins, both of whom stared stonily back at him "– that you had opened the Vault when Gornuk appeared and overrode me, declaring all further rulings to be a matter of the Vault Tournament Judges Committee."

"Which it has been," Gornuk snapped.

"It is also," Artag said with a tone of finality, "the _majority_ ruling of this Judges Committee, and you will respect that ruling."

"In that I have no choice," Bill said stonily. "But I will not remain a part of an institution that chooses to disregard its own precepts."

Artag looked affronted. "Do not take that tone with me, wizard."

Bill turned to the elderly goblin. "'That tone?' Do you not recall the words engraved on the front doors of your own building?" And he recited,

"_So if you seek beneath our floors  
__A treasure that was never yours,  
__Thief, you have been warned, beware  
__Of finding more than treasure there."_

Gornuk slammed his gnarled fist down upon the chair he sat in. "You _dare_ accuse us of thievery, with our own words?!"

"They seem especially appropriate," Bill said curtly. "You admit the Vault is not goblin-made."

"The _Vault_ is not," Artag replied immediately. "We do not say yet whether the contents are, or are not, the property of goblins."

"Will you try to determine whether everything within the Vault is goblin-made?" Bill asked sardonically.

"Enough!" Artag stood unsteadily in the chair; Gornuk took his arm to steady him. "We return to Gringotts on the nonce. Weasley, you will report there by 9 a.m. tomorrow morning to submit your opinion to the committee or face disciplinary action for insubordination."

Bill stood as well. "I'm afraid," he said quietly, taking an envelope from an inside pocket of his robe, "it's gone well beyond the point of submitting to your authority. I hereby tender my resignation." He handed the envelope to Artag, who looked surprised, but barely glanced at the envelope before shoving it roughly into Gornuk's hands.

"Very well," Artag growled; even with his dark skin it was clear he was flushed with anger. "Report to Personnel for your personal effects at your earliest convenience." He turned to Gornuk. "Let's go."

Gornuk nodded and took the elder goblin's arm. Both of them disappeared with a loud _crack_.

"Well, that's that," Bill said with a bitter smile, looking at McGonagall.

"Are you sure you wanted to do that, Bill?" McGonagall said. It was strange, Harry thought, hearing her refer to him by his first name.

"Nothing ventured, nothing gained, Professor," Bill said, with a shrug. He turned to Ron, who was looking at him in amazement. "Don't look so surprised, little brother."

"But you've been working at Gringotts for ten years or more!" Ron protested. "I didn't think you'd just chuck it all like that!"

"It's a bit calculating on my part," Bill admitted. "Goblins take their jobs very seriously. I know – as you say, I've been working with them for a decade now, so I've had plenty of time to learn their motivations.

"That's why Artag was so disgruntled by my resignation – from his perspective, I would only do that if I was quite sure that what I believed, was true."

"Well, you _do_ believe it, don't you?" Ron asked, wondering.

"Of course I do, little brother," Bill smiled. "You did a great job of researching the origin of the Vault." He patted Ron reassuringly on the shoulder. "In fact, I'd like to have a look through Uncle Archie's journal, if you have it – I'd like to see if I can duplicate your reasoning."

"Sure," Ron said, turning red. "It's in my trunk." He glanced at Hermione, who beamed at him.

"I'll pick it up tomorrow," Bill said. "I'll get a room at the Hog's Head tonight and come back to use the Hogwarts library." Bill turned to McGonagall. "If that's alright with you, Professor."

"Don't be silly," McGonagall said "I can arrange for a room for you in the staff quarters."

"That would be very nice, thank you," Bill inclined his head in gratitude. He turned toward the door, and Harry and Ron turned with him –

But Hermione stood still, looking unhappy. "I don't want to seem ungrateful," she said timidly. "But – we've lost, haven't we? I mean Ron has. The Vault is opened but Ron's not getting anything because the goblins have overruled your decision. That's not right!"

"A very wise man once said, 'It's not over 'til it's over,'" Bill said with a shrug. "I'm going to file an appeal tomorrow with the governors of Gringotts for a hearing on the matter.

"It may all come to naught – the governors are not likely to side against Artag without very good reason. With any luck, I can come up with something in the next day or so using precedents from wizard and goblin dealings in the past century or so."

"I'd like to help, if I can," Hermione volunteered at once. "I've been through a lot of that history while I was studying wizard relations with other races."

"I welcome your help, Hermione," Bill said, smiling. Nodding to McGonagall, the four of them left her office to find Bill's room. Later, in the Gryffindor common room, they discussed their meeting with the Gringotts goblins. The tower was nearly empty; most of the students had taken the Hogwarts Express back to London on its special run Monday after the memorial service for Neville and Professor Slughorn.

"So what do you think?" Ron finally asked Harry, who knew he meant, what were his chances of getting the contents of the Vault of Mystery.

"I don't think there's much chance the goblins'll give up what's in that Vault," Harry said, shaking his head. It galled him to have to say it; Ron had poured so much of himself into figuring out the secret of getting in the Vault.

Ron shrugged unconvincingly. "Yeah…well… I guess I should've known better than get my hopes up," he said. Hermione's hand was on his, squeezing it reassuringly. "We'll probably never even find out what's inside that thing."


	37. Inheritance

**Chapter 37**

**INHERITANCE**

The next morning Harry and Ron didn't arrive in the Great Hall for breakfast until it was nearly over. Hermione and Ginny were both already there, talking with Bill. The Great Hall was nearly empty; classes were over for the year, and most of the student had already gone home.

Something, however, had kept Harry here, a feeling he couldn't quite identify. It could be simple sentimentality – Hogwarts had felt more like his home than anywhere he'd ever been, except the Burrow. For the past seven years Harry had spent nearly nine months of each year here, living and eating and learning about wizardry from some of the most diverse and interesting people he'd ever met. In a few days, he would leave that behind, forever.

"Hi, Harry, Ron," Bill said as they approached. They greeted him back, but both Ron and Harry's attention were elsewhere – Ron's on Hermione, whom he sat next to and put an arm around, squeezing her gently, while Harry had his eyes on Ginny as he sat down across from her.

"Hi," she said, beaming back at him. "Bill's been telling me about what happened yesterday."

"Mum's upset," Bill said matter-of-factly. "She's already making noises like Fleur and I should move back to the Burrow."

Ron leaned forward to stare at him, slightly alarmed. "You're not going to do that, are you?"

Bill laughed softly. "No. They get along much better if there's a bit of distance between them, I've found."

Harry saw Ginny's eyes flick toward Ron and a glance pass between them. Apparently more than just Bill had figured that out already, he realized.

"By the way," Bill said to Ron. "When you get a chance, I'd like to collect great-Uncle Archie's journal from you, to have a look at."

"I brought it down with me," Ron said, producing the journal and passing it to his older brother, who began flipping through it while scanning the pages.

The envelope Ron had found in the book slipped out, and Bill picked it up, looking at it curiously.

"Was this with the journal when you found it?" Bill asked, holding the envelope up for Ron to see.

"Yeah. Couldn't make any sense of it, though."

"No wonder," Bill said, examining the sheet of parchment inside. "This is Gobbledegook."

"Goblin writing?" Ron said, looking over at Hermione, who had looked over, interested, at the mention of the goblin language. "What would Uncle Archie be doing with a letter written in that?"

"I wonder the same thing," Bill said distractedly. He was studying the writing.

"Can you read it?" Hermione asked.

"Not really," Bill said. "I was just trying to see if anything looked familiar about it."

"Why would anything look familiar?" Ginny asked. "You just said you couldn't read it."

"I see goblin documents at work all the time," Bill explained. He laughed. "Well, I used to, anyway. I thought I might recognize what kind of form this was. But no joy."

He put the letter back in its envelope. "Fortunately, I know someone who will translate this for me. That means I've got to run." He stood up to leave. Ginny stood up as well, and gave him a hug. He turned to Hermione.

"Check out those books we talked about," he told her. "Goblins are sticklers for rules, but most of the problems we've had with them are because wizards misunderstand how goblins think about the things they make, including agreements with wizards."

He reached across the table and shook Ron and Harry's hands. "Take care, I'll see you all Thursday afternoon at the hearing, if not before." And he walked out of the Great Hall.

"So," Ginny said to Harry as she sat back down at the Gryffindor table. "What do you think?"

"About what?" Harry asked.

Ginny smiled. "About everything. Voldemort's dead. You've finished school. Ron's opened the Vault of Mystery. I guess we haven't talked in a bit, have we?"

"I guess not," Harry said, smiling back at her. It was true; he'd barely had time to say "hi" to Ginny since Saturday. "We have some catching up to do, don't we?"

"Hello." Deirdre had come up to their table and was standing behind Ron and Harry.

"Hi, Deirdre," Ginny said, smiling at her. "How are you doing?"

"I'm fine," she said. "It's been a very busy couple of days for all of you, hasn't it?"

"Yes," Harry said, looking around at her. "We haven't had a chance to ask how you and Jon are doing."

"I was going to ask you about Jon," Deirdre said. She looked down at the floor, one of her feet was tapping the floor unconsciously. "If you had seen him lately."

"Not since we got back to Hogwarts late Saturday night," Harry said. "I thought he and you would be…" he trailed off as she shook her head slowly.

"I haven't seen him, either," Deirdre said. "I'm about to leave the school and go back to my – my herd, permanently."

"What about Firenze?" Ron asked. "Will he be going back as well?"

"We don't know yet," Deirdre said. "Father and Magorian are talking, at least. I do not know what, if any, kind of agreement they will reach."

"When Firenze took the Divination position Professor Dumbledore offered him," Harry said, remembering. "The other centaurs were very upset; I remember seeing hoof marks on Firenze's chest." Deirdre nodded soberly. "I hope they can come to an understanding: Firenze must want to return home very much by now."

"Many of us would like him to return as well," Deirdre agreed.

There were several moments of silence.

"I am glad to have met you all," Deirdre finally said, looking at each of them. "Especially you, Ginny," she said with a smile. "And Luna. You were both very good friends to me." She and Ginny both walked into each others arms and hugged. She shook Ron and Hermione's hands as well.

"And I'm glad to have met you, Harry Potter," she said, turning to him with her hand held out. After a second of hesitation Harry took it and shook; Deirdre suddenly pulled him into a hug as well. "Good fortune," she said as she released him. "I hope if you're ever back at Hogwarts you can take a few minutes to visit us in the forest."  
"I'll remember," Harry smiled. Deirdre waved and walked out of the Great Hall.

"Oh, damn," Ron said a moment later. "I just remembered what I was going to ask her! When we saw her on the Marauder's Map she only had the name 'Deirdre.' "

"So?" Ginny said.

"Well, where did the name 'Recaunt' come from?"

"Ron!" Hermione looked him incredulously. "How can you have figured out the puzzle on the Mystery Vault and not seen that 'Recaunt' is an anagram of 'Centaur!' "

"Oh, yeah."

After breakfast, Hermione went to the Library to look at the books Bill had pointed her towards; she cajoled Ron into joining her for some company, leaving Harry and Ginny the opportunity to catch up with each other. The morning was a bright, cloudless day, perfect for a walk, and they ambled aimlessly across the grounds, eventually finding themselves overlooking the lake near Dumbledore's white tomb.

It occurred to Harry that he had never come to this spot since he attended Dumbledore's funeral, almost exactly a year ago now. Whether it was because of Dumbledore, or because he had broken up with Ginny near this spot on that day, he couldn't say. Ginny, perhaps guessing his thoughts, said quietly, "Seems like a lifetime ago the last time we were here, doesn't it?"

"It does," Harry agreed. "If I had it to do over again…"

"Well I'm glad you don't," Ginny cut over him. "I wouldn't want to go through _that_ again!" They both chuckled.

"Seriously," he said a moment later, turning to her. "I was wrong to ditch you like that."

"No you weren't," she retorted, surprising him. "You had something you needed to do and you did what you had to."

"I feel awful about it –" Harry started to say, but she cut over him.

"Harry, you don't need to beat yourself up for me," she pointed out. "Besides, I've beat you up enough about it – behind your back."

"Oh, well, that's good to know," Harry said, sounding both rueful and sardonic.

"I'm not proud of it either," Ginny admitted. "But what's done is done. The question is – what are we going to do about it _now_?"

"Well," Harry said, moving slowly closer to her. "We should try to think of something beneficial for both of us."

"I agree," Ginny said, moving closer as well.

"I just hope," Harry said, putting his hands gently on her shoulders. "That no one will give us any grief about being together again."

"If Ron says anything I'll break his thumbs, the filthy hypocrite."

Harry smiled and his lips found hers, and they embraced, a cool morning breeze from the lake gently stirring Ginny's hair, reminding Harry of flowers. It was a perfect moment, one they both wished could last forever.

Later that day a note came from Hagrid, asking Harry, Ron and Hermione to join him for tea that afternoon. Harry was happy for the opportunity to see Hagrid again before he left Hogwarts – they hadn't had much time together this year. Just before tea time they arrived at Hagrid's hut and knocked on the door. Moments later the Hogwarts groundkeeper welcomed them inside.

"Good to see yeh! Bin awhile, hadn't it?" Hagrid said, getting them seated and bustling around, getting tea ready while Fang, his enormous black boarhound, leapt up on them, slobbering excitedly.

"We have been rather busy this year," Hermione said, a little guiltily.

"I'll say!" Hagrid agreed genially. "Harry! Quite an achievement, lad, what you did with You-Know-Who last week! I wish I'd bin there, to see that!" He handed each of them a huge steaming mug of tea.

"Thanks, Hagrid," Harry said. He blew on his tea to cool it a bit. "How did you hear about it? None of us talked about what happened." _At least, none of us I know of,_ he added to himself. "But the _Daily Prophet_ seemed to know all the details."

"Well, yeh know how that goes, Harry," Hagrid sniffed. He passed around a plate of his usual rock cakes, and each of them politely took one. "If somethin's a big secret round here, everyone'll know about it, somehow."

"How'd you find out, then?" Ron asked. Hermione gave him an exasperated look but Hagrid didn't seem the least bit abashed.

"Madam Rosemerta down at Three Broomsticks gave me most o' the details," he said, settling down himself into a chair with a bucket-sized mug of tea and a couple of rock cakes on a smaller plate in his lap. "An' Professor Sprout filled in the rest.

"But now I got you three right here," he added happily. "An' I thought to myself, I could get things straight from the hippogriff's mouth, as it were. So what happened?"

Harry hadn't quite anticipated talking about things again so quickly. "Well, it happened pretty much the way you heard, I guess."

"Well, yeah. That's good, then, that's it not a bunch of rumors flyin' around. But I thought you might add some flavor to the tellin'," Hagrid said, sounding disappointed.

Harry felt a rush of guilt. It had been Hagrid, nearly seven years ago, who had come to tell Harry on his eleventh birthday that he was a wizard and that he was going to Hogwarts. Hagrid had been his friend all these years, along with Ron and Hermione; he didn't want his last visit with him here to be a disappointment to either of them.

Slowly, Harry reached up and removed the chain and golden sphere that was hanging around his neck. "This," he said, holding out for the other three to see, "is what's left of Lord Voldemort."

They all stared at the small golden object at the end of the chain. Finally Hagrid said, "Maybe I'm a bit slow, Harry, but what is it that you're showing us here? Did you turn Voldemort into a little gold ball or somethin?' "

"No," Harry shook his head. "I know this will sound strange, but Jon made this crystal ball and when I touched it to Voldemort's skin, it sucked him inside."

"Inside?" Hermione said, peering at the small sphere curiously. "You mean _all_ of him? Why?"

"He never told me!" Harry said, frustrated. "I asked but he said it would take too long. He said he would tell me later."

"We haven't seen him since we came back from Diagon Alley," Ron said.

"Do you think he left?" Hermione suggested.

"He could have," Harry said with a shrug. "He might have taken his Corvette."

"Corvette?" Hagrid said, looking at them. "D'you mean to say that _Jon_ was the one drivin' that vehicle around London?"

"…Yeah," Harry said, after a moment. "And…we sort of were with him."

If they'd expected a lecture from Hagrid, however, they were mistaken. The Keeper of the Keys merely smiled. "Never could keep you out of things, could we, Harry?"

"It seems not," Harry said, returning the smile. "You know me – if there's ancient magic or an evil wizard about, I'm there."

They talked for the rest of the afternoon about the other things that had gone on that year: N.E.W.T.s, the Vault Tournament, including Ron's opening of it, and the hearing coming up in the next few days, and about Hagrid as well – how his classes had been going, what had been going on in the Forbidden Forest (the acromantula population had been growing, causing some problems for the other animals there) and even how things had been going with Madame Maxime, whom they learned had visited him for a short time during the Christmas break.

"Why didn't you _tell_ us!" Hermione exclaimed, beaming at him, and Hagrid seemed to actually blush. "That was very nice of her!"

"Well, we did have a right nice time," Hagrid said, fidgeting with a rock cake; it shattered to powder in his fingers. "Anyway," he said, flustered, "I may take a trip this summer to see her, in France."

Harry and Ron exchanged glances. Not that long ago, they would have rolled their eyes at Hagrid's words, but a lot had happened since those days; Harry liked to think that he understand more about Hagrid's feelings for Madame Maxime now than he had a few years ago.

Finally, when it was time to go, Hagrid stood next to his doorway, Fang at his side, to see them off. "Don' fergit," he said, "to lemme know what happens at yer hearing, Ron," he said, a massive hand on his shoulder. Ron nodded and put his hand on Hagrid's.

"Hermione," he said next, leaning down to her as she looked upward with bright eyes, into his. "Mind you take care of these lads – don' let 'em get too wild now that they're goin' out into the wide world."

"I won't," she said, and suddenly reached up and hugged Hagrid about his neck. He patted her gently on the back, then stood up again after a few moments and turned to Harry.

"Well, Harry – I promised myself I wouldn't cry," Hagrid said, his voice breaking. He took out a tablecloth-sized handkerchief and blew his nose noisily into it. "I just know yer parents'd be so proud, Harry." Hagrid sniffed loudly, trying to look happy.

Harry put his hand on Hagrid's arm. "I know they would, Hagrid," he said gently. "Thanks for everything you've done for all of us, these past seven years." He moved forward and hugged Hagrid, who put an arm around his shoulder, still sniffling.

"Alright, then, off you go," Hagrid said, waving them on their way. "I'll look for yeh at the Hogwarts Express on Friday."

They waved back at him as they made their way toward the castle. If Voldemort had been the worst thing that had happened to him at Hogwarts, Harry thought, Hagrid was surely one of the best.

By Thursday morning, the day of the hearing at Gringotts, Harry and the others had heard nothing more from either Bill or Jon. In Jon's case, it was no big deal, even though Harry wondered if his things were still up in the Room of Requirement; but they needed Bill for the hearing. Hermione had gleaned some information about wizard-goblin agreements from several history books and collections of Ministry bulletins and agreements with them, but nothing she felt could help them in the meeting.

There had been duplicity and treaty violations on both sides. With the recent problems caused by Voldemort relations were even further strained. An article in the Prophet that morning suggested that many goblins were unconvinced about the news of his demise. Ron scowled at the paper while reading this. "What do they want, bleedin' pictures?" he snorted, but Harry said nothing – the descriptions of his "final battle" with Voldemort weren't altogether accurate, he knew.

After breakfast, Harry, Ron and Hermione decided to see if they could find Jon anywhere in the castle. Their first stop, in the entrance hall, was to see if his name was still on the Naming Scroll. It was, as was theirs and a few dozen other students. The school was practically deserted.

"Let's check his dormitory," Ron suggested, and they walked up to Gryffindor Tower and up the boys' staircase to the second room from the top, where Jon had stayed with the second-years. His bed was freshly-made, as were the others, but his trunk still sat at the foot of his bed; none of the other beds had trunks in front of them as all of the other boys in this dormitory had gone home for the summer.

Ron pulled out his wand and pointed it at Jon's trunk. "What are you doing?" Hermione demanded in a half-whisper.

"Having a look," Ron said, waving his wand at the lock. It popped open without protest. "Whoa. That was almost too easy," he said, looking at the trunk warily.

"You shouldn't be snooping around in his things!" Hermione said severely.

"Yes, _Mum_," Ron said sarcastically. "With five older brothers, 'snooping' makes good sense. You never know what little pearls of information you might come up with."

"Doesn't make it right," Hermione sniffed.

"It's not like he cared, Hermione," Ron said reasonably. "There wasn't even any magical protection on the lock." He pushed open the trunk and stared inside. "What the hell –?"

The trunk was empty. All three of them leaned over the top of the trunk to peer inside.

After several seconds Harry suggested, "Maybe a hidden compartment –"

"Probably," Hermione said. She started to take out her wand and Ron, leaning back, gave Harry a knowing look. Seeing him, Hermione snapped, "Oh, shut up!"

"I didn't say anything!" Ron protested, though his tone was light. Hermione made several passes with her wand over the open trunk, frowning more with every pass.

"Nothing," she said finally. "Nothing at all. This trunk is just a trunk."

"Maybe everything's in the Room of Requirement," Harry suggested.

"I suppose," Hermione said, thinking hard. "But the Hogwarts Express leaves tomorrow at 11 a.m. – why wouldn't he at least have gotten his clothing and books packed. And why keep them in the Room of Requirement in the first place? It doesn't make sense!"

"Well what do you expect?" Ron shrugged. "He's an American."

"Americans put their pants on one leg at a time, just like we do," Hermione pointed out.

"Oh?" Ron said, now giving her a stern look. "And you know this how, exactly?"

"You're pathetic," she said wearily, shaking her head. "It's an _expression_, Ron!"

"Why don't we go check out the Room of Requirement," Harry suggested quickly, trying to avoid another argument. They were all nervous about the hearing that afternoon, and tempers were short. "We can see if we can get into Jon's room."

"Fine," Hermione said, a bit shrilly, and Ron tipped the top of the trunk closed. They walked in silence to the corridor where Barnabas the Barmy and his ballet-dancing trolls hung silently on the wall. Harry took out his wand and approached the wall opposite the tapestry. It had been a long time since he'd heard the words Jon used to gain quick access to the Room of Requirement, but he had repeated them over and over again in order to remember them. Thinking, I need to get into Jon's room, I need to get into Jon's room, Harry tapped the wall three times, saying "_Desidero…cello…indigus!" _each time, his voice becoming stronger with each repetition. An oaken door appeared before them.

"You did it!" Ron crowed. He pulled the door open and he, Harry and Hermione hurried into the room, where they found Jon's Corvette and workshop exactly the same as the last time Harry and Ron had been here.

"Well, not quite exactly the same," Hermione said after checking several cabinets. "These are all empty."

"Here too," Ron said, looking along another wall. "It looks like the only thing he left was the car."

But Harry had spied two objects sitting on a counter top in a far corner of the room. "Over here," he said. They hurried over to join him, where a copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_ and a golden ring sat, each with a slip of parchment near them, with writing on each of them.

Harry picked up the parchment next to the book and read,

_Oftentimes the words in books, you'll find  
__Are products of a greater mind,  
__But not all words in books are true  
__Or even a good thing for you to do._

"It's Snape's copy," Harry said. He'd recognized the book at once.

"We shouldn't leave that in here," Hermione said. She had never liked the book Harry had accidentally been given in Professor Slughorn's class last year, even before she knew who it had belonged to.

"No," Harry said, when she reached for it. "Leave it here. It was my choice not to use it again. If anyone else finds it, it'll be their choice how they use it as well."

"Look at this!" Ron said, picking up the other piece of parchment next to the ring.

_Tap the Ring with your wand and say, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." Then say "Help!" to learn what the Ring can do. _

"Blimey," Ron said, awed, "He made another Marauder's Map ring!"

Harry looked at his own ring. In another couple of days it would soon become useless; once he left Hogwarts he would have no further use for it. He considered leaving his own ring with the one already here, but decided against it – it would be a remembrance of his friendship with Jon, whom he expected they would never see again.

"Let's go," Harry said. "We should ask Professor McGonagall if she's heard from Bill." Leaving everything as they found it, the three exited the Room of Requirement, heading for the Head's office.

However, as they entered the corridor leading to the stone gargoyle that stood before the entrance to McGonagall's office, Professor McGonagall herself appeared. "I've been trying to locate you, Weasley," she said to Ron, looking tense. "There's still no word from your brother, is there?"

"No ma'am," Ron said.

"We were coming to ask _you_, Professor," Hermione said.

McGonagall looked around, then stepped up to the gargoyle and said, "Blancmange." The gargoyle leapt aside and they hurried up the steps to her office.

Once there, McGonagall walked behind her desk and sat down heavily. Harry and the other followed her to her desk, looking at one another apprehensively.

"I received a Patronus from Bill last night," McGonagall finally blurted out, very unlike her usually reserved demeanor. "It said only, _'Will receive translation Thursday morning, laying low until then, have everyone in entrance hall ready to go.'_ It concerns me," she said, "that Bill feels he has to 'lay low' until almost before the hearing."

"Who's he laying low from?" Harry asked.

"I don't know," McGonagall admitted. "That's why I'm concerned. If he's hiding from the goblins at Gringotts, we're in a sticky wicket for certain."

Ron was becoming increasingly upset by this talk. "What are we going to do, then?" he demanded, forgetting who he was addressing.

McGonagall seemed not to notice. "It's nearly time for dinner. After that I want you in the entrance hall and ready to go at a moment's notice."

"But what if he doesn't show –"

"_Mister_ Weasley, that is _quite_ enough from you," McGonagall finally cut him off, sternly. "Your brother Bill is quite capable of taking care of himself! Now all of you get ready for the hearing, and I'll want to see you in the Great Hall not one second after noon!"

"But –"

"_Now_, Mr. Weasley!"

Five minutes later, Ron and Harry had finished changing into their best shirts, ties and robes for the hearing at Gringotts. "I don't see what the old bat is getting so rummy for. He's my brother!"

"She's just worried," Harry said. "We all are."

"Right," Ron said, sighing.

They bolted their dinners and went immediately to the entrance hall, followed by most of the students still at school. Many of the seventh-years were still there, perhaps because it was the last few days most of them would ever spend there. A number of other students were still there, some of them not ready, for whatever reason, to leave until the very last day.

Terry Boot came up to Ron and shook his hand. "Good luck, Weasley," he said. "I read the account in the _Prophet_ – you did an excellent job figuring out that puzzle."

"Thanks, Boot," Ron accepted the praise with a fair amount of surprise – Ravenclaw students didn't offer it to students in other Houses often. He glanced at Hermione, who was beaming at him, obviously mindful of the same thing.

It was coming onto two p.m. when Michael Corner, standing at the front door, yelled, "Someone's running up from the front gate!"

McGonagall flew to the front door. "It's him!" she cried, motioning quickly for Harry, Ron and Hermione to come forward. Just as they ran up Bill burst through the front door, completely winded. "Come – on!" he gasped, holding out an empty butterbeer bottle.

"Bill!" Ron shouted. "Where the hell have you been?!"

"No – time!" Bill gasped, shaking the bottle in front of them. "Portkey – going – any second – now!" At that moment the bottle flashed blue and Ron, Harry and Hermione – and Ginny, who was standing next to her – put their fingers on the bottle, and it pulled them inward and away.

"Miss Weasley!" Harry heard McGonagall shout, but whatever else she said was cut off as they were whisked away, spinning wildly amidst swirling colors, to land moments later on the platform outside Gringotts, next to the Vault.

"Come on!" Bill shouted even as they landed. Ginny staggered and Harry caught her as they turned and ran toward the front doors of the Bank. Harry glimpsed a bright golden band encircling the Vault as they passed it at speed.

"Follow me!" Bill dashed past the long counter of goblins who looked up, startled, as the five humans dashed past them. They each leaned forward and stared after them, then looked at each other. Bill turned down a corridor, zig-zagging through the back offices of the bank. "We have to get there by 2:01 p.m.," he yelled, "or by goblin law the judgment goes to the party present!"

"Who the hell set up the time for the Portkey?" Ron bawled.

"It had to go through the Ministry!" Bill yelled back as they ran down a flight of stone steps and down a long, torch lit corridor. "Dolores Umbridge blackmailed the wizard who cast the spell! Just as well, though," he added as they skidded to a halt in front of a heavy wooden door. "I couldn't have made it back to the school one minute earlier," he panted, out of breath, and flung open the door.

It looked like a courtroom, Harry saw, similar to Courtroom Ten in the Ministry of Magic, but with two tables before the judges' benches instead of a single chain-decked chair. The two goblins, Gornuk and Artag, sitting at the right-hand table, watched them enter with frowning expressions. Gornuk stood and addressed the bench. "The petitioner is late. I move for judgment by the governors."

Beyond them, three old goblins, who Harry guessed were the governors Gornuk referred to, consulted with each other briefly. After a moment, the one in the middle, an ancient, gnarled, entirely hairless goblin, spoke in a rasping whisper, "The time limit has only just expired, Truth-Speaker Gornuk. In the interest of goblin-wizard relations, we will hear the petition."

Bill turned to Ron, and Harry heard him say softly, "They think they've got us anyway, on the rules of the tournament."

Harry moved closer to Ginny, who was looking around at the room while catching her breath. "Why'd you come?" he whispered to her.

"Just an impulse," she whispered back. "It was too good an opportunity to pass up."

"I'm glad you're here," Harry told her, squeezing her arm lightly. She smiled and patted his hand. At the other table, Artag and Gornuk were whispering among themselves.

The ancient goblin was rapping on an old leather-bound book for silence. When everyone fell silent he looked toward their table. "Let the petitioner proceed."

Bill thrust a piece of parchment into Ron's hands. "Read this," he whispered.

"_Me_?" Ron whispered, sounding horrified, but at an urgent nod from Bill he stood, cleared his throat and began,

_"Honored Governors and Officers of Gringotts Wizarding Bank, thank you for hearing the petition that I, Ronald Bilius Weasley, bring before you.  
__"To wit –"_

Ron blinked and looked around at Bill, mouthing the words "to wit" with an incredulous expression. Bill merely gestured for him to continue reading. Sighing, Ron went on.

_"— to wit: First, that as a duly registered and confirmed Contestant, I was given the right to attempt to open the Gringotts Bank Mystery Vault. Second, that within the prescribed time allocated I was able to unlock said Vault with no outside assistance or consultation. Third, that before said time expired the tournament was suspended by the Gringotts Vault Tournament Judges Committee over the objections of the Tournament Referee, William Arthur Weasley._

_"I therefore make petition to be deemed Winner of the Vault Competition and Owner of the Gringotts Bank Mystery Vault, with all rights and responsibilities apportioning thereto. I humbly thank the Governors and Officers of Gringotts for hearing me today. Thank you."_

Bill nodded at him, smiling, and Ron dropped the parchment on the table before him. The ancient goblin turned to Gornuk. "The respondent may speak." Gornuk stood to address the room.

"Thank you, Governor Gurdolp, and honored Governors. The Vault Tournament Judges Committees's position is simple: The contest has been deemed not only suspended, but closed. It therefore cannot be re-opened, even with the agreement of the Board of Governors, without appointing a third committee member to replace Referee Weasley, who terminated his employment with Gringotts before completing his assigned duties." There were some mutters from the governors at this. Ron leaned over to Bill and Harry leaned in to listen as well.

"Is that a problem, you not completing your duties?" Ron whispered tensely.

"It's a factor," Bill said. "It was well-played by Gornuk – he knows the governors will take that into consideration as well as my resignation under protest."

"But what good is this doing, anyway?" Hermione whispered. "They don't need a third member do they, Bill? From what I've read, as long as any two-member judges committee is in agreement, any decisions they make are binding."

"True," Bill agreed quietly. "But we're just going through the petition to give them a chance to get out of this gracefully."

"What do you mean?" Ron asked, but at that moment the ancient goblin spoke again, this time to Bill.

"Is this true, Cursebreaker? Did you forsake your responsibilities in tendering your resignation?"

Bill stood. "I tendered my resignation in response to actions by other committee members that I considered inappropriate," he replied, his voice clear and steady. The three governors again muttered among each other.

"Irrelevant," the goblin on the left finally said. "We must find in favor of the Committee." The other two goblins nodded in agreement. "The resignation of William Arthur Weasley is hereby accepted," said the goblin on the right.

"Didn't think that would go over," Bill muttered to Ron and Harry.

"Do you have any other evidence to present?" Gurdolp asked Ron, who looked helplessly at Bill. Bill, in turn, handed him an envelope which, Harry saw, was the envelope that had been in Archie Weasley's journal. Bill leaned over and whispered in Ron's ear. Ron looked at him sharply, but turned to Gurdolp.

"If it please the Governors of Gringotts Wizarding Bank," Ron said, his voice slightly aquiver. "I offer this document, held by my great-uncle Archimedes Weasley." He started to walk forward but one of the goblins put up his hand and Ron stopped. The envelope floated out of his hand and into the goblin's, who then opened and began to read it. After a few moments, however, he stopped, looked sharply at Artag and Gornuk, then continued reading, becoming more and more agitated as he did so. He handed the parchment to Gurdolp, who read it, becoming visibly angry as he did so. The third goblin leaned over, reading as well, looking at Gurdolp after he'd finished and pointing to something in the document. Gurdolp nodded curtly.

Finally, he handed to parchment back to the first goblin, who floated it to the opposing table where Gornuk caught it from the air. "Read the document," Gurdolp said, his rasping voice thick with repressed anger, "and tell us the meaning of it."

Gornuk scanned the parchment, his eyes growing wider with each line he read. Wordlessly, he passed it to Artag. The elder goblin took it, scowling imperiously at Gornuk, and began to read. By the time he'd finished, however, his demeanor had changed quite a bit.

"This c-cannot be," he whispered. "I don't…"

"Don't remember?" Gurdolp finished for him. "Odd, that is. _I_ certainly would remember an agreement like that, had I made it. Even one made nearly 30 years ago."

"What's going on?" Ron whispered to Bill. In reply his eldest brother produced another sheet of parchment from his robe's vest pocket and handed it to Ron.

"The envelope you found was an agreement between great-Uncle Archie and the newly-appointed Chief Goblin of Gringotts Wizarding Bank. Here's the translation." Ron held it so Harry and the others could read it as well:

* * *

**This** **Agreement**, made 1 January 1970, by and between Archimedes Lucius Weasley of Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon ("the Client"), and Artag, Chief Goblin of Gringotts Wizarding Bank ("the Bank"), makes the following binding provisions.

(1) The Client will lease storage space from the Bank for the following property: one vault, wizard-built, measuring 10 feet and 2 inches in width, by 10 feet and 2 inches in height, by 10 feet and 4 inches in height, with silver and gold engraved inlays at all corners, locked by a mechanical lock enhanced with magical safeguards.

(2) The Bank agrees to lease storage space for the item described above for the Client for a period not to exceed fifty years, and to ensure its safe return to the Client at any time before the allotted period has expired.

(3) The Client agrees to remit to the Bank the sum of one thousand Galleons per year, for a total of fifty thousand Galleons, in advance, in return for safe storage.

(4) The Bank agrees, if said Property identified in (1) cannot be returned in original condition, to remit to the Client, his assigns or heirs, the sum of one hundred thousand Galleons.

(5) The Bank shall provide all necessary safeguards and protections for the Property it deems proper and fitting.

(signed) Artag, Chief Goblin of Gringotts Bank

(signed) Archimedes Lucius Weasley

* * *

"It's a contract!" Harry shouted gleefully.

"Order!" Gurdolp rapped his book on the bench. "Quiet, you!"

"Yes," Bill said with a smile. "It's a contract. And it's binding."

"Quiet!" Gurdolp rasped again. "Be quiet!"

"Brilliant!" Hermione said to Ron. "They have to turn over the Vault or pay you _one hundred thousand Galleons_!"

"Wait!" Gornuk shouted. "We must determine who Archimedes Weasley's heirs are before we can turn anything over to them!"

"I thought you might say that," Bill said, bringing out another envelope. "So I took procured a copy of his will from the Ministry of Magic, for your perusal. It stipulated that if no one had heard from him for a period of twenty years or more, that his will should be executed.

"It was so executed in 1990," Bill continued, "and in it he left all his possessions to his nephew Arthur Weasley, his wife Molly, and all of their children, jointly and severally.

"So now, governors, unless you are prepared to renege on your duly executed agreement, you must hand over either the Vault, or one hundred thousand Galleons," Bill concluded.

The three goblins stared at one another; all of them looked extremely vexed. When Artag ventured to speak, "Governors, I –" Gurdolp silenced him with a glance.

The ancient goblin stared shrewdly at them, rubbing his wrinkled chin thoughtfully. "Very well, Cursebreaker," he finally said. "It seems we have little choice. We will be magnanimous in defeat, however, and allow you to choose what your remittance shall be – the Vault, or the one hundred thousand Galleons."

The two governors on either side of Gurdolp both leapt to their feet. "No! Fool!" they shouted. The ancient goblin, however, shouted a phrase in Gobbledegook. The two governors stared, furious, at him but both took their seats again and remained silent.

In reply, Bill turned to Ron. "Your choice, little brother," he said. "You opened the Vault." Ron's eyes widened. He turned to look at Harry and Hermione.

"A little help?" he said. But Hermione was shaking her head.

"You have to go with your heart this time, Ron," Hermione said, giving him a look of pure trust and hope. "I know you'll make the right decision."

Ron gave her a look of perfect chagrin. "The _one_ time I actually ask for your opinion, love, and you won't give it to me," he said wryly.

"What did you say?" Hermione asked at once.

"I said, the _one_ time –"

"_After_ that!"

"Er – 'and you won't give it to me?' "

"Ron," Harry said with a grin. "You called her 'love.' "

"I did?" Ron said, grinning back at him. "It must've slipped out."

"Oh Ron!" Hermione leapt into his arms and kissed him passionately.

It went on so long that Gurdolp turned to one of the other governors and asked, "It is a wizard ritual?"

"It's a human ritual," Harry said, to no one in particular.

Finally Ron and Hermione surfaced and stepped back, both red-faced and breathing more heavily than necessary. He looked to Bill, who said gently, "You still have to decide which payment we should take, Ron."

"Go for it, Ron," Ginny said, giving him a confident smile.

Still holding onto Hermione, Ron looked at the three governors. "My great-Uncle Archie left us this vault all those years ago," he said, looking into her eyes as she smiled radiantly at him. "Whatever's in there, he wanted us to have it. I reckon if my great-Uncle went to all that trouble, we ought to trust he knew what he was doing. I choose the Vault."

Gurdolp smiled, a hideous, nasty rictus. "I thought you might," he said, and pulled an envelop from his dark robe. "Here is something else Artag has forgotten about – although I haven't. Read it," he said, and the envelope floated into Ron's hands. "It's written in both Gobbledegook and your language." Ron looked at the note and read:

* * *

_Honored Governor Gurdolp,_

_My evaluation of the human, Archimedes Weasley, and his proposed arrangement for the vault he wishes Gringotts to store for fifty years for an annual amount of one thousand Galleons, payable in advance, is as follows:_

_First, Weasley has been losing money at a steady pace. His vault holds only a few hundred Galleons and his mother's vault contains approximately fifty-four thousand Galleons._

_Second, he is an excellent craftsman but seems to lack the business acumen to put his skills to good financial use._

_Third, his brothers Lucius and Hieronymus, while possessing admirable business talents, have been engaging in questionable ventures. Their younger brother, Septimus, has refused their guidance and has instead entrusted their mother's assets to Archimedes. However, these assets have been removed steadily from her vault during the past two years, during which time Archimedes has stated he was building his own vault._

_Fourth, while the Weasley family still has adequate resources to live comfortably if they are careful, the payment of the lease amount will put them into serious financial straits. It therefore makes no business sense whatsoever for Weasley to store his vault in Gringotts for legitimate business or fiduciary reasons. I estimate it will contain, at most three to four thousand Galleons if Weasley places it in our safekeeping._

_Finally, the property, insured for double the total lease amount, could be used in an attempt to turn around his initial investment for a one hundred percent profit within a few years, if something were to happen to it while in our keeping. I propose a set of level five spells to protect the vault from external and internal tampering. If Weasley intends to retrieve collect the vault within a few years and collect the indemnity upon our default, he will be very surprised to find it completely intact._

_Submitted for your approval,_

_Your servant,_

_Artag, Chief Goblin of Gringotts Wizarding Bank_

* * *

"Clever," Bill said mildly, turning to look at Artag. All the goblins were now all grinning at them. "So you figured you would take advantage of him, thinking he was trying to scam you."

"You'll pardon me for not feeling guilty about that," Artag said nastily. Your ancestor attempted to cheat us – whatever setbacks he suffered because of that are entirely his own fault."

"Then I suggest we make it official and see which way the wind is blowing," Bill said coolly. Declare Ron the winner of the Vault Tournament, give him the Vault, and we'll ask that it be opened and an official register of its contents made."

"Done," Gurdolp said, signing a parchment already before him. It looked to Harry like they had this already thought-out, however it had played. But – Artag was mopping beads of sweat from his wrinkled forehead, even in the coolness of the room. "We will now make the announcement to the public."

Everyone made their way back to the lobby of the Bank and from there to the platform where the Vault sat waiting for them. Gornuk read the decision of the Judges Committee and everyone in the street in front of Gringotts – which looked like the entire population of Diagon Alley, including, Harry saw, Fred and George Weasley, cheered loudly.

"We will now break the seal on the Vault and have a Gringotts Official Counter register for the contents of the Vault," Gornuk announced. He and Bill, the casters of the joint spell, stepped up to the Vault, and Bill waved his wand while Gornuk ran a thin finger along the silvery band around the Vault's middle, which promptly disappeared.

Bill motioned for Ron to come up and open the door. Ron did so, looking a little self-conscious, but he smiled and waved as he walked up. He took hold of the handle, by now thoroughly cleared of Portkey remnants or any other type of illegal travel device, and pulled. The door opened ponderously, just enough to allow the Counter, a goblin carrying a small hand abacus, to enter, after placing a small block on the door of the Vault to keep it from fully closing and locking. The door pulled shut on the block and Ron walked back nervously to Bill.

"How long d'you think it'll take?" he asked Bill.

"Depends on how much treasure's in there, of course." Bill looked at him with admiration in his eyes. "Ron, it took real courage not to choose the sure thing, the one hundred thousand Galleons. I know that was a hard decision."

"You know it," Ron said feelingly. They chuckled, as did Ginny, Harry and Hermione.

Five minutes stretched into ten, and ten into fifteen. Fred and George had joined Ginny and their brothers on the platform. Ron had taken to biting his nails in frustration.

"Didn't Dad say great-Uncle Archie was an avid bottle cap collector," Fred mused.

"I heard he had a 'thing' about Muggle light bulbs," George mused.

"Shut it," Ron said irritably. "S'not funny!"

"Let's just hope he wasn't using that thing as a humidor for his Jamaican tobacco collection," Fred said to George.

Finally, thirty-seven minutes after entering the Vault, the door opened slightly and the goblin Counter slipped out. He walked directly past Bill and handed the register to Gornuk. The Truth-Speaker took a look at it, stood, handed it to Gurdolp and walked into the bank without a word.

Gurdolp looked at the total, blanched, then stood stiffly and walked over to Bill. "Congratulations," he said, handing him the register. Then he and the other governors stood and Disapparated.

Bill looked at the tally board, swallowed, then walked up to the podium. "Ladies and gentlemen, the final tally and total winnings for the Vault Tournament are: 178,243 Galleons, 7 Sickles and 3 Knuts."

There was a collective gasp, followed by thunderous applause. Harry leaped, his hands in the air, shouting "WOOOOOO! WEASLEY! WEASLEY! WEASLEY!" Soon the entire crowd was chanting with him.

Ron gaped; he looked like someone could knock him over with a feather. When Ginny grabbed him and began jumping up and down, screaming his name, he barely seemed to know what was happening.

"YOU DID IT, RON!!" Harry screamed at him, clapping him on the back, as were Ginny, Bill, Fred and George. "YOU WON!!"

"Wow," Ron said, looking around in a daze. "I won!" Then he fainted, but Harry and Hermione caught him before he hit the ground.

By the end of the day a special edition of the _Daily Prophet_ had come out, describing the events of the day, at least as the paper understood it. The headline across the top of the _Prophet_ read

**Weasley Family Wins Vault Tournament Jackpot**

Accompanying the headline was a rather slapdash account of what had occurred in front of the crowd, along with the Prophet's usual speculations about what had gone on behind closed doors. As usual, it was mostly guesswork, but with a few uncomfortably close ideas about what had happened. Harry started to wonder if he should keep an eye out for any beetles that might be flitting about – especially a beetle with markings around its antennas that were exactly like the glasses a certain female journalist wore.

None of that was important now, however – the students still at school were celebrating Ron's win in the Great Hall with an impromptu feast of cakes, pastries, pies and pumpkin juice. Ron and Hermione were sitting together at the middle of the Gryffindor table, everyone else gathering around them laughing and celebrating as Ron described the hearing with details never revealed in the _Prophet's_ article.

Harry, laughing as Ron described the look on Gurdolp's face as the amount in the Vault was revealed, felt a tap on his shoulder. It was Professor McGonagall, who motioned for him to accompany her. He followed her into the room off to the right of the High Table.

"I wanted a word before you left tomorrow," McGonagall said, and Harry felt an uncharacteristic hesitancy from her. "To let you know, in case you were wondering about your N.E.W.T. scores."

"I thought we would get them sometime next month," Harry said.

"Yes, but in certain cases some students are given…advance notification," McGonagall said. "Have you considered lately your desire to become an Auror?"

The question took Harry aback. It was true that, a few years ago when Dolores Umbridge was Headmistress and High Inquisitor at Hogwarts, she declared that Harry would never be selected for an Auror, and Professor McGonagall had pledged to do everything in her power to help him succeed in that ambition. Now, with his N.E.W.T. s behind him, the time to decide was nearly upon him.

"I – well, it hasn't been uppermost in my mind, Professor," Harry said honestly. He wasn't sure what else to say.

"I understand, Harry," McGonagall said kindly. "It's a big decision, of course. I –" she hesitated a fraction before saying "– took the liberty of reviewing your N.E.W.T. examinations before sending them on to the Wizarding Examination Authority at the Ministry."  
"You did?" But Harry was not as surprised as he sounded.

"Yes. You did – well – on all of your theoreticals. Exceeds or better in all subjects. Although –" she gave him a stern look "— your Potion result was not far from an Acceptable. Something for you to consider for some summer reading, Mr. Potter." She handed him an envelope. "I've put a few forms in here for you, in case you decide to apply at the Ministry."

Harry took the envelope, but didn't say anything. There were still a few things that bothered him about the Ministry, not the least of which was Dolores Umbridge, who was still working there. As if in response the back of his right hand tingled where the words "_I must not tell lies_," had been cut into his flesh by Umbridge's special quill.

"I have to think about it," he told her.

"Of course," she said, a small smile on her lips. Then, suddenly brisk again, "Well, you should get back to your friends, and enjoy your last evening here." She turned and walked through the opposite door.

At that moment Ginny leaned in the door he and McGonagall had originally come through. "Oi, Harry, where – there you are," she said, looking around the room. "What are you doing in here?"

"Professor McGonagall and I were talking," Harry replied, walking over to her. He was very glad to see her alone like this. "She wondered whether I was going to go on become an Auror."

"You are, aren't you?" Ginny said, seriously.

Harry looked at her.

"You've done some pretty amazing things in the last few years, Harry," Ginny went on, walking up to stand in front of him. "Not the least of which is, getting rid of Voldemort. I think the Ministry of Magic could do a whole lot worse than have you as an Auror."

Harry leaned forward and kissed her on the mouth. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back. A long, wonderful moment later they moved apart and smiled at each other. "Do you want to go for a walk –"

"— down to the lake?" Ginny finished his question. "I'd love to." Harry turned toward the door.

"But not _that_ way," she said, grabbing his arm. "Let's go this way," she said indicating the way McGonagall had left. "No one needs to know where we're going. At least, not for a while."

They left arm in arm, looking at each other with new emotions coursing through them. It would be a wonderful last night here, Harry knew.


	38. Meeting of the Minds

**Chapter 38**

**MEETING OF THE MINDS**

Friday brought a host of mixed emotions. For Harry, Ron and Hermione, it would be their last day spent at Hogwarts as students. Never again would they cast charms in Flitwick's class, or struggle through one of Professor Sprout's practicals, or trade curses (of any kind) with Slytherins in Defense Against the Dark Arts. There would never be another Quidditch practice, swooping through the sky as Harry so enjoyed doing, or a trip to Hogsmeade for a bottle of butterbeer at Three Broomsticks or Chocolate Frogs at Honeydukes.

There would be no more running up and down any of the hundred and forty-two staircases, or along any of the secret passages Harry had come to know so well, thanks to the Marauder's Map. No more passwords to remember for the Fat Lady, no more watching passed notes fluttering back and forth between students in class behind the professor's back.

And finally, Harry thought as he packed the last of his things in his trunk, no more meals in the Great Hall – no sumptuous lunches or dinners of roast beef and chicken and ham and lamb, corned beef or shepherd pie or casserole; no potatoes and corn and peas, rolls, and jam and butter and pumpkin juice. And certainly no more breakfasts of eggs, bacon, sausage, porridge or kippers, with toast and rolls and orange juice and corn flakes.

The Great Hall echoed oddly as Harry and Ron entered. With only a few dozen students in the entire school, sounds seemed to carry further. Most of the students still here were grouped near the High Table, where the remaining teachers joined them for the final meal of the year. Ron sat next to Hermione and looked over her shoulder as he ate at the articles on the new Weasley fortune. As Harry looked around the Hall he saw that nearly every student was reading them as well.

"Whoa," Ron said, pointing to a quote from a "wizard in the street" article, where a wizard had heard that the Weasley family had won over 750,000 Galleons. "I wish _that_ rumor was true," he said fervently, drawing a chuckle from Harry.

"You wouldn't know what to do with all that money," Hermione said plaintively.

"I'd be willing to learn," Ron replied, grinning.

When the time came for them to leave for Hogsmeade Station, the teachers and staff still present gathered with them in the entrance hall to say goodbye. "Best of luck, Harry," squeaked Professor Flitwick, shaking his hand.

"Take care of yourself," Madame Pomfrey said, taking his hand gently. "I think I saw more of you in the last seven years than anyone I can think of."

Tonks held out her hand as Harry approached her, but at the last moment pulled it back and embraced him. "We both had good years, didn't we?" she whispered in his ear. "Your last and my first."

Harry turned and was engulfed by a furry, black-haired mountain – Hagrid, who'd sidled up next to Tonks as she hugged Harry. "Well, Harry," he said, bending down toward him looking both happy and tearful. "This is it."

"Hagrid," Harry said, and suddenly he knew how Hagrid felt. "I – I'm really going to miss you!" He threw his arms around Hagrid's neck, feeling ready to cry himself.

"Me too," Hagrid said, and sniffed loudly. "But I'll be here, if yeh ever wan' ter visit, remember."

"I will," Harry said, and felt Ron and Hermione's arms join his around Hagrid's shoulders. After a long moment together they let go, and Hagrid smiled at them as he dabbed away tears with his tablecloth-sized handkerchief.

Even wheezing, rheumatic Filch, who'd shuffled into the room only after most of the students were out in the thestral-drawn carriages, nodded to Harry as he passed. "Mind yourself, Potter," he growled, and Harry nodded in return.

At the great double doors of the school, Harry, Ron and Hermione stopped and turned, looking at the marble staircase that led up to the first floor. There at the top of the stairs floated several ghosts: Nearly-Headless Nick, the ghost of Gryffindor Tower, bowing genteelly to the three of them, along with the Fat Friar, Myrtle, who'd left her bathroom for once to see the students off, and Peeves, who almost seemed sorry to see them go.

Harry gave one final wave, as did Hermione and Ron, and ran down the steps and into a waiting carriage. In moments the procession of carriages was traveling toward the gates of Hogwarts.

"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts," Ron half-sang, looking out the carriage window as they pulled away from the school. "Well, that's that!" He turned back to Harry and Hermione. "I feel like having the biggest, bestest party money can buy, now that we're done with school."

"Not quite the right foot to start out on, is it?" Hermione said disapprovingly. "Spending money like there's no tomorrow, just because you've got it."

"Oh, _come on_, Hermione!" Ron snorted. "I'm not talking about _blowing_ it all or something – just a celebration for some friends! Besides," he added. "I've decided to put Bill in charge of the Weasley gold – he knows the Gringotts crowd better than anyone else, and they're likely to give him more respect than any of the rest of us."

"Good thinking, Ron!" Hermione said brightly. Her entire attitude had changed at Ron's announcement. "Your brother's sharp – he'll know how to make your gold grow."

"Right," Ron concurred. "_Without_ an Engorging Charm, that is!"

At the station, they got their trunks loaded onto the train along with the other two dozen or so students who were traveling that day. Unlike most trips, which filled the Express to bursting, there were plenty of empty compartments for students. Almost every seventh year, however, was part of a group packed into the compartment as they shared this final trip home.

"Here you are!" Ginny said, coming up to Harry and giving him a quick hug. Ron, who had in the past pointedly looked away whenever Ginny and Harry got too close for his comfort, had an arm around Hermione and merely watched them this time, smiling and squeezing her shoulder. Harry helped Ginny put her trunk up and they took their seats in the compartment, Ginny next to Harry, Hermione beside Ron.

At precisely 11 a.m. the train blew its whistle and pulled away from Hogsmeade Station.

"Well, that's it, then," Ginny said. "You're done." She squeezed his hand. "Congratulations!"

Harry smiled and moved his face closer to hers. She smiled, inviting him to continue, and they kissed again. Harry cast a sidelong glance toward Ron, to see his reaction, but he and Hermione were similarly engaged.

There was a knock at the door, and it slid open a moment later to reveal Jonathan Crown. In mid-snog, Harry's eyes widened and he pulled away from Ginny, who looked round to see who was there, as did Ron and Hermione. "Jon!" Harry said. "We wondered where you'd got off to!"

"I've been around," Jon replied, nodding at them, but there was a solemn look in his eyes, a hesitancy, as if he would rather not intrude.

"Come on in," Harry said, and Jon stepped inside the compartment, pulling the door closed behind him, then sat down next to Hermione.

"We were beginning to think you'd skulkered off after we got back from Diagon Alley, after the fight with Voldemort," Harry said.

"No," Jon shook his head. "I just had some things to take care of before the train left." He was looking down, not meeting any of their gazes; he had turned so he wasn't looking at Hermione.

"So what were you doing?" Ron wanted to know. He glanced toward Harry; the look confirmed they were thinking the same thing: Jon was there for some reason, but he was acting like he didn't want to be there. Could something – or someone – have gotten to him during the week he'd been out of pocket?

"Just some loose ends I'd left hanging," Jon said, still avoiding their eyes. Jon was normally more direct and straightforward than this, Harry knew. His right hand crept slowly toward the pocket where his wand was.

"You've all been pretty busy too," Jon said, glancing toward Harry, then Ron, for a moment. "That was pretty amazing how the Vault Tournament turned out, Ron," he said.

"It was," Ron agreed. "I suppose I have you to thank for it as well, at least in part – it was your suggestion about Archimedes that helped me figure it out."

"You're being too modest," Jon disagreed. "I just pointed out a historical figure with the same name. You did all the real work."

"But you did give him a vital clue," Hermione said, reaching out to put a hand on Jon's arm. He nodded, but seemed to shrink away slightly from her touch. What was going on?

"So, what will you do next, now that school's out?" Harry asked, hoping Jon's answer would reveal something about why he was here.

Jon shrugged. "I dunno. I suppose I'll drive my car home to Texas – I got it shipped back to New York at the beginning of the week and I don't need to be in a hurry to get home."

"Oh really?" Hermione said, sitting straighter. "But isn't your –"

"— Isn't that an awfully long drive?" Ron cut over her quickly.

"Sixteen or seventeen hundred miles," Jon said. "Only seven or eight hours at cruising speed, if I wanted to get there that fast. But like I said, I'm not in any hurry."

"You're lying," Harry said bluntly. His hand was on his wand in his pocket. "We know the car is still in the Room of Requirement. We just saw it there yesterday morning."

No one spoke for several seconds. "Hmm," Jon finally said, leaning back into the corner and looking at the tense expressions on their faces. "Well, you caught me there, Harry."

Harry pulled out his wand and pointed it at Jon. Ginny looked at it, wide-eyed, as it came into her view, and Harry put his other hand on her shoulder to move her out of the way. "What's this all about?" he demanded. "Why did you lie to us about the car?"

"I was just curious if you'd checked," Jon said. He interlaced his fingers and rested them on his chest as he regarded Harry, with his wand pointed at his head and Hermione, Ron and Ginny staring at him anxiously, hands now in their pockets as well.

"Why are you here, then?" Harry demanded.

"To explain to you why I was able to do the things I could when we were fighting Voldemort," Jon replied.

No one moved. After several seconds Harry glanced toward Ron, and was surprised to see he was not only motionless, but seemingly frozen, like he'd been caught by a Full Body-Bind Curse. Hermione and Ginny were frozen as well. Harry pointed his wand with renewed vigor at Jon. "Release them!"

"I will, Harry," Jon said quietly. "But first I have to talk to you."

"You can talk to us all," Harry said shortly. "Release them!"

"No," Jon said. "You can decide whether to tell them, after I'm done telling you. For now, though, this is between you and me." He took a deep breath. "I'm not a wizard, Harry."

Harry blinked. "What do you mean?" he asked, perfectly confused by the statement. "You're not a Muggle – you've been doing magic all year long, loads of it! I think you know at least as much magic, if not more, than Hermione does."

"Yes, I know magic, Harry," Jon agreed. "And a lot more than Hermione does, for that matter. I know every spell that's ever been created. I know Arithmancy, Leglimency, Occlumency and a few 'mency's' you haven't heard of yet. I can Metamorph –" he transformed into Harry's double "– I can Animorph –" he changed from Harry into a black cat, then back to his own form a few seconds later. "_Or_," he finished in a hiss, "_I can even speak Parseltongue_."

Harry was silent for long seconds. What was he to understand from this? "Is this how you brought Hermione back from the dead? _Can you bring people back_?" He nearly shouted the last question.

Jon shook his head. "It's magic, Harry, but I'm not God. I got lucky – Hermione's soul was still here, with us, when I made Voldemort's wand show me what it had done to her, before I destroyed it. But –" Jon's voice was breaking, he had turned to look at Hermione, sitting frozen in place next to him. "I – I didn't think Voldemort would attack her – I thought he would try to kill _me_." He covered his face with his hands, and sobbed.

"What are you saying?" Harry whispered. "You _wanted_ Voldemort to kill you?"

"I wanted to see the look on his face when he tried," Jon said, still hiding his face, his voice muffled. "I was being arrogant. He couldn't have killed me."

"But there's no way to block the Killing Curse," Harry pointed out.

"Every yin has its yang," Jon said cryptically, looking up at Harry. His eyes were swollen; tears rolled down his cheeks. "There is a counter for it, a secret that's been guarded even more jealously than the secret of Voldemort's Horcruxes.

"I wanted to laugh in Voldemort's face, Harry. I wanted him to know that I had what he desperately wanted – immunity from death. But the joke was on me, I guess, because Voldemort found the chink in my armor when he killed Hermione."

_Immunity from death_, Jon had said. But Harry ignored that for the moment, because of what he'd just said. "So you _do_ feel something for Hermione, don't you? Go on, admit it."

Jon smiled. "I admit I love her, Harry – in the same way _you_ do, as a friend. She's been my friend, nothing more, Harry. Really."

"Then why were you so torn up at her death?"

"For the same reason _you_ would be, Harry, if you'd caused her death – she's my _friend_."

"Alright," Harry said, though not completely convinced. He changed tactics. "So what was up with you and Ginny, then?"

"Nothing different there, either, Harry." Jon shook his head. "Most of the times she and I talked, _you_ were the main topic of discussion. She was scared Voldemort was going to kill you, or Malfoy, or some Death Eaters were going to get ahold of you. She couldn't say any of that to you – she didn't want you worrying about _her_.

"Hermione was the same way about Ron. She'd talk about him, how afraid she was that he was falling behind in his studies while trying to figure out how to open that Vault. She was also afraid he'd get into some situation that was over his head because he hadn't studied enough, and he'd end up dead before they could be together."

None of what Harry had learned in the last few minutes was making sense to him. He wasn't grasping it. He looked at Ron's face, then Hermione's and Ginny's. "What did you do to them?"

"Nothing. It's you and me that are changed, Harry," Jon said, pointing. "Look out the window." Harry turned and looked. The scenery outside was frozen, unmoving, just like Ron, Hermione, and Ginny.

"Just like the interior of my car," Jon explained. "There's a lot of space inside, even though outside it's just like any other car. The Extension Charm lets you change the interior dimensions of an object.

"You and I are currently under a Temporal Charm, which does the same thing, only for time rather than space. Time is passing several thousand times faster for you and me than it is for them," Jon said, indicating the others. "By the time they realize anything unusual is happening, our conversation will be over."

"What I'm trying to figure out," Harry said, repressing a mounting anger born of the deceptions he felt Jon had perpetrated on them. "Is what you are, if you're not a wizard. And what you're trying to prove, if you could have beat Voldemort any time you wanted to. Am I wrong? From what you've said, it would have been no problem for you to bottle him up –" Harry pulled out the golden sphere from under his shirt "— any time you wanted to."

"True," Jon admitted. "But that wasn't the purpose of my visit. I just wanted the opportunity to experience Hogwarts with you and your friends."

Harry shook his head, confused again. " 'Visit?' What d'you mean by that?"

Jon sighed again. "Well, this is the complicated part."

Harry laughed. "The complicated part, is it? I guess the rest of this has just been a doss up 'til now!"

"Well, more or less," Jon said. "I'll just say it straight out, then: I come from a different reality than this one."

"Come again?"

"There's a lot more to existence than meets the eye, Harry," Jon said. "It's a lot bigger, a lot older, and a lot more layered than you might expect. Do you remember 'Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle?'"

Harry thought for a second, then recalled, "Yeah, that was a comic book I saw Ron reading once."

"Right. Well, there is a reality in which Martin Miggs is alive and the adventures he has are things that really happened to him, not just a story in a comic book.

"In the same way," he continued. "There are some realities where the things that have happened to you – here, at Number 4 Privet Drive, or the Burrow, or wherever, for nearly the past eighteen years – are just a story, a fiction made up by someone to entertain others."

Harry didn't say anything; this sounded so far-fetched, there was hardly anything _to_ say.

"You look skeptical," Jon said, sounding amused.

"Oh, you think so?" Harry said, not hiding his irritation. "You're telling me that I'm like some comic book character and I'm supposed to bleedin' _believe_ you?

"And even if I do, for some reason, not think you're completely _mental_, that doesn't explain what you're doing _here_." Harry folded his arms across his chest and waited for Jon to come up with an explanation for _that_.

"Touché," Jon said, accepting Harry's point. "You're right. In my case, it's easy to explain, although it probably won't sound any more believable."

"I'm listening."

"When I was young," Jon said. "Or at least, younger than I am now, there were several books written about your adventures at Hogwarts. In my reality, magic was a fiction – there are magicians and illusionists, but they use only sleight of hand and misdirection – the sort of thing all normal people – Muggles, if you will – are capable of.

"Decades after those stories were written, technology made it possible for people to live longer and be healthier than ever before in history. Lifespans of hundreds of years were possible. And still our technology progressed, to the point where we could create virtual environments where any conceivable experience could be achieved.

"Many people lost themselves in these virtual places, victims of their own self-interest. Some of them are probably there still. Eventually, though, we gained the ability to access other realities, to find aspects of existence we had never conceived of before. Since there are nearly a limitless number of such realities, and because they are _real_, not fictional situations made virtually real, they are much more interesting. That's what this reality is for me."

"It sounds," Harry said slowly, "like you're saying that I and everything here are nothing more than stuff someone made up in a story."

"No, Harry, I'm _not_ saying that," Jon disagreed. "You are real. Everything that has happened to you, really happened. Neville is really dead," his voice cracked. "I wish like hell I could undo that, but I can't."

"Why _can't_ you undo it?" Harry challenged. "You brought Hermione back!"

"Because she wasn't altogether _gone_ yet!" Jon snapped. "Harry, I don't know what your soul is – I don't know where it goes when it leaves your body at death. I would have had no way to follow Hermione, if her soul had left this reality before I could touch it and call it back. She was confused, frightened, terrified even – but the idea that she could go onto what lies beyond this existence had begun to appeal to her. I had to _beg_ her to come back, to stay here a little while longer." He looked away from Harry. "I feel like I betrayed her, doing that to her."

"Does she know any of this, what you've told me?" Harry asked.

"I don't know," Jon said, shaking his head. "She might have some unconscious memory of it, repressed when she re-entered her body." He looked at Hermione, frozen in position, her face turned toward him. "Only time will tell how this affects her."

"I don't know what to say to all this," Harry told him. "It sounds beyond belief."

"I'm sure it does," Jon agreed. "Just as, when I was growing up, in my reality, the kind of magic you practice daily was beyond belief. The person I am now, traveling between alternate universes to visit fictional characters made real must seem utterly fantastic to you."

"I can't disagree with that," Harry said wryly.

"Then we may as well leave it at that," Jon said. "I'll leave you and your friends in peace. There's only one thing left I need to tell you – or rather, to show you." Jon stood, taking out his wand.

Harry stood as well. "Are we going somewhere?"

"In a manner of speaking," Jon said, holding out his hand, fingers splayed. "It will work better if we're touching."

Harry reached out and grasped Jon's hand, intertwining their fingers. "Close your eyes, Harry." Jon closed his own.

Harry did as well. "I'm ready," he said.

"_Iunctumens_!" Jon said loudly.

Harry opened his eyes. He and Jon were still standing beside each other, but they were no longer touching. The compartment had gone as well – in fact, _everything_ had gone. They were surrounded on all sides by a uniform whiteness, extending even below them. Harry could feel solid ground under his feet, but couldn't distinguish a floor, walls or any structure of any kind. Except –

Standing behind Jon was an old man with long hair and a long white beard, wearing half-moon glasses and a pleasant smile. With a jolt, Harry recognized him as Albus Dumbledore. Jon turned and waved his wand, and the figure of Dumbledore smiled even more broadly at them.

"Ah, Harry!" he said, moving forward, seemingly effortlessly; Harry could hardly see his feet beneath the long white robe he wore. "So good to see you again after all this time! Although I daresay you've already figured that I've seen you every day since we last spoke in the flesh."

"I –"

"And this must be your friend Jonathan Crown." Dumbledore turned politely to include him in the conversation.

"Yes, sir, I am," Jon said. "It's an honor to meet you at last, although I wish it could be under different circumstances."

"Ah, well," Dumbledore gave an airy shrug. "'_C'est la vie_,' as the French say. "Or in this case, perhaps '_c'est la mort_' is more appropriate."

"Excuse me, Professor!" Harry said. His voice had gone slightly strange. "Aren't you dead?"

Dumbledore looked at him, a twinkle appearing in his eye as he answered, "Well, Harry, 'yes and no' is probably the best answer I can give you. As was well phrased by a mutual friend of ours, the answer, like me, is neither here nor there."

Harry frowned, but in a rush the memory came to him. "Nearly-Headless Nick!" he cried. "You're a ghost, Professor!"

"Your servant, Harry," Dumbledore bowed.

"But –" Harry hesitated, but plunged ahead "– but don't people who are _afraid_ of death become ghosts, Professor? I never would have imagined that of you!"

"Very kind of you to say, my boy," Dumbledore made another small bow in acknowledgement of Harry's words. "But there are other situations that qualify as well."

"Jon," Harry said, not looking at him, but keeping his eyes on Dumbledore. "Where did you bring me? Did you know Professor Dumbledore would be here?"

"I had a strong suspicion," Jon said. "A few people lent me their memories of Professor Dumbledore. They remember he tends to steeple his hands when he's thoughtful or trying to make a point. It's a gesture I've seen you make a few times as well, especially when you've been distracted or concentrating intently on something.

"As for where we are – well, the charm I cast earlier was the Mind-Join Charm. We are sharing the same thoughts. And Professor Dumbledore is here because –"

"— because, Harry," Dumbledore finished, "I've chosen to Haunt – you."

"_Me_?" Harry exclaimed. "_Why_?"

Dumbledore looked profoundly regretful. "I apologize for giving you no hint of what I was doing, Harry! I made a dreadful mistake when I found Marvolo Gaunt's ring, and I spent most of that year in a race to teach you what I knew before it was too late.

"The ring bore an awful curse for anyone not of Gaunt's family who tried to wear it. I attempted to remove the curse so I could wear the ring as I disposed of the Horcrux.

"But I failed," Dumbledore finished heavily. "The curse lay dormant until I struck the ring with Godric Gryffindor's sword, one of the very few objects that can permanently destroy a Horcrux. Then it struck, destroying my hand and nearly the rest of me as well, until the timely assistance of Professor Snape arrested its progress."

At the mention of Snape's name Harry's expression hardened. "It is hard to believe that he would have helped you then only to turn about and kill you less than a year later. I've always wondered why he did that."

"Perhaps we should ask him, then," Dumbledore said mildly, extending a hand in the direction of someone behind Harry, who spun and saw –

_Snape_. Here, in his _own_ _head_?!

Snape's malevolent expression stared out from under the greasy black hair framing his sallow features. He was motionless; Jon had not as-yet cast the Temporal Charm on him, although he was turning to do so.

"Wait!" Harry said, putting out a hand quickly to stop him. He whirled on Professor Dumbledore. "Why is _Snape_ in my head, Professor?!"

"I'm afraid I must apologize again," Dumbledore said, inclining his head regretfully once more. "Professor Snape is here by my doing. As certain as I was that he had turned against Voldemort, I was slightly less certain of his loyalties to me. I fear that, because of that uncertainty, I caused Professor Snape to be here. Or at least, this part of him."

"'This part of him?' Harry repeated. "You mean, he's not a ghost?"

"No," Dumbledore shook his head sadly. "Severus Snape still lives."

"Then _this_ –" Harry looked at the frozen image of Snape in revulsion, "is a fragment of his _soul_?"

"Yes," Dumbledore finished, looking at Harry with eyes that were suddenly apprehensive, almost _fearful_. "I cast the spell preparing your body to become a Horcrux just before we swam to the cave. I did not think I would be able to, afterwards, if my experience with Gaunt's ring was any indication."

"But _why_?"

"Because," Dumbledore sighed, "I wished to know what Professor Snape's intentions toward me were, whether he truly intended to help me die with a measure of dignity, at a time of my choosing, or whether he wished me dead." He pointed to the frozen image of Snape. "_This_ is the evidence. When Snape killed me on the Astronomy Tower, a fragment of his soul was ripped from him and placed into you."

"So he _murdered_ you," Harry said flatly. "He wasn't helping you."

"He was helping me, but his intentions are still manifest. The irony of it is, Harry, a few more weeks and I would have been dead anyway."

"What? Why?" Harry cried.

"The ring's curse had done its abominable best to kill me," Dumbledore replied, walking up to the frozen image of Snape, who stared, stony and unseeing, back at him. "And in the end it would not be denied. The potions and spells Professor Snape prepared for me helped stave it off for the better part of the year, but I knew I would never see another September first."

"I wish I could have been here, then," Jon said, looking at Dumbledore. "I could have stopped it from killing you."

"Tut, tut," Dumbledore said, mildly reproving. "I have no regrets about dying, beyond the burdens I unnecessarily placed on Harry. My life was fuller and considerably more interesting than many realize. Yourself included, Harry. I suppose I do have one regret – that you'll never read my autobiography."

"Why not?"

"I never bothered to write one, unfortunately."

Harry and Jon both chuckled in spite of themselves. "I suppose we should get back," Harry said, not really wishing to go. "I could probably stay and talk with you forever, inside my head, Professor, but now that I know you're here – will it be possible for us to do that?"

"I daresay it's not impossible, Harry," Dumbledore said, with a smile. "Whether you'll ever care to again is the more pertinent question, I think."

"Why wouldn't I want to –?" But Dumbledore put up a silencing hand.

"We can leave that for now, Harry," he said, forestalling any other comments. "However, if you look for me and find me not here, I may have gone on."

"Or, I may be paying a visit to some old acquaintances at Hogwarts," he continued briskly. Harry smiled, and Dumbledore put a silvery-white hand on his shoulder. "_Do_ you forgive me, Harry, for what I've done to you? I crave your forgiveness. I wish I had not forced my responsibilities onto you!"

"I didn't think of it that way," Harry said, honestly. "I am glad you trusted me."

"I wish I could say the same, Harry," Dumbledore said, his voice heavy once again.

"What do you mean, sir?"

"I have one other thing to show you, before you leave." Dumbledore stepped aside, and Harry gasped as behind him stood – _Voldemort_.

Yet it was a radically different Voldemort than the one Harry had last seen. His thin figure was shrunken, emaciated; it stood frozen, in a hunched and nearly cowering pose, as if afraid of them.

"What's happened to him?" Harry asked wonderingly.

"The Voldemort that came to your parents' house that Hallowe'en night was at the pinnacle of his magical power," Dumbledore said, looking at the wretched figure along with Harry and Jon. "But his soul, Harry, was in quite a different state. Tattered, in ruins, it had been ripped at least five times, more than any other wizard had ever attempted, to our knowledge.

"When your mother's spell caused his Killing Curse to rebound upon him, it ripped away a tiny piece of his own soul and bound it to you at the point of contact – your scar, Harry." Harry reached up to his forehead, but the scar – and his glasses, were no longer there. He looked at Jon, realizing that he was no longer wearing glasses, either.

"Now," Dumbledore continued. "With his Horcruxes destroyed and his soul no longer present, this final scrap of his soul has nothing else to draw upon. It will never be able to pain you again, Harry."

Harry nodded, a ghost of a smile on his lips. "I trust you'll keep an eye on him, while you're here, sir?"

"Of course," Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eye. "Thank you, Harry, for understanding!"

"I trust you, Professor," Harry said clearly. "I can't put it more simply than that."

"And you trusted your friends," Dumbledore said. He looked at Jon, then at Harry. "A rare gift, Harry, to trust like that, after all you've been through.

"And now, until we meet again, farewell." He moved away from Harry, fading from view, as did the the figures of Snape and Voldemort.

Harry took a step after Dumbledore, but Jon put a hand on his shoulder. "We should go back, Harry." Harry nodded, reluctantly, looking after Dumbledore.

"I'll see you around, Professor," he said softly, as Jon said "_Finite_!" They opened their eyes and were back in the compartment aboard the Hogwarts Express.

"I'll say goodbye as well, Harry," Jon said, stepping forward and extending his hand to Harry, who shook it without thinking. "I'm sorry too, for the people that have died here – Neville, Slughorn, Professor Burbage… I'm just glad that not as many people died here as they did in the stories in my reality."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked. "Who died – er, there?"

"A _lot_ of people," Jon said. "Let's see… Moody, Lupin, Tonks… Dobby died." Harry looked stricken. "Well, remember, Harry – in my reality these were only stories."

"But… you've said that what's fiction in one reality can be real in another one, right?"

"….Right," Jon agreed, slowly.

"Did Hermione die in that story?" Harry asked suddenly. "Is that why you didn't want her to die here?"

"No, she lived. Ron does, too."

"What about Ginny?"

"She survives as well," Jon nodded. "But – Fred dies. And Neville becomes the professor of Herbology at Hogwarts."

Harry shook his head. "How do you know all this? Is it –"

"Yeah, it's in the book." Jon put up his hands as Harry opened his mouth again. "Harry, please. I could talk for hours about everything that goes on in the stories about you in my reality. But you have to live your life _here_, in this one. I'm just glad I was able to share some of it with you."

He looked at Ron, Hermione and Ginny. "I wish I could say good bye to them."

"You can," Harry suggested. "I can tell them about this other stuff… when they're ready for it."

Jon looked at him skeptically for a moment, then smiled and sat down. "What the heck," he said. "It can't hurt. Have a seat, I'll end the Temporal Charm and be on my way. Take your wand back out."

"What? Oh, yeah." Harry pulled out his wand again.

"_Finite_," Jon said quietly, then stood as Ron, Hermione and Ginny looked at him, each other, and Harry, trying to decide what to do. "I'll be going now, Harry. Ron, Hermione, Ginny, it was a very interesting year, thank you all for making it that way."

"Wait a minute, you," Ron took out his wand. "We're not through with you."

"Yes, we are," Harry said. "Put your wand away, Ron."

"Wha' d'you _mean_, we're through?" Ron exclaimed. "He just _lied_ to us not 30 seconds ago about his car!"

"I know why he did it," Harry said, putting his own wand away. "I'll explain later."

"Is there something we should know about _now_?" Hermione pressed him, concerned. Harry shook his head.

"Kind of ironic," Jon said, "leaving you all on less than the best terms. But at least I _can_ leave you like that."

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" Ginny said fiercely.

"It means, 'be well,'" Jon said, and turning on the spot, he Disapparated.

"That was weird," Ron said a few moments later, shaking his head. "He was a strange bloke, wasn't he?"

"Definitely," Harry agreed. "But it _was_ an interesting year, wasn't it?" The others nodded agreement as well.

They continued to chat as the train rolled on through Scotland and into Northern England, finally arriving in King's Cross as the sun hung in the western sky.

"Ron! Oh, Ronald!" Mrs. Weasley gathered Ron up almost before he stepped off the train. Mr. Weasley put an arm across his shoulder, beaming at him. The other Weasleys were there as well: Bill, Fred, George, Charlie as well, back from Romania. They clustered around Ron, all talking at once. Ginny ran off the train and into the pack as well, making one large family hug.

"It's unbelievable!" Mrs. Weasley was saying. "Our Ron figured out the secret of the Mystery Vault, and it was the Weasley fortune all along!"

"Yeah," Fred said, giving George an chagrinned look. "I thought _we_ were supposed to come up with the family fortune, George."

"Congratulations, Ron," another voice said, and Ron turned in shock as he recognized his brother Percy, who'd been standing off to one side, watching silently to this point.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Ron said, glaring at him. "I thought we weren't good enough for you anymore!"

"Ron, I –" Percy looked miserable. "I – look, I know what a bloody idiot I've been these past few years, but –"

"But _what_?" Ron demanded.

Amazingly, it was Fred and George, two of Percy's most vocal criticals to this point, who came to his rescue.

"Ron, you're looking at a new man," Fred said proudly, clapping Percy on the back. Percy winced; the slap was a bit harder than it needed to be.

"When Bill was trying to get out of the Ministry of Magic in time to get back to Hogwarts," George said. "Who d'you think came to his aid, earning the wrath of Dolores Umbridge and demotion to a junior undersecretary in the Centaur Liasion office?"

Ron's eyes widened in shock. He looked at Percy in amazement. "You mean _you_ –"

"They're making more out of it than it is," Percy muttered, looking uncomfortable. "I just found Bill an alternate exit."

"And good thing," Bill added. "Or I wouldn't have made it to Hogwarts in time to get Ron and everyone to Gringotts, and we would have been flat out of luck."

"Well, boys, the more the merrier," Mr. Weasley said, clapping both Percy and Ron on the back; Ron turned and looked at Harry and Hermione with a expression of pure joy.

"And Harry!" Mrs. Weasley shrieked, turning to hug him as tightly as she had hugged her own son. "It's _unbelievable_ about you as well, getting rid of You-Know-Who once and for all!"

"Yeah," Harry said, feeling the golden sphere pressing against his chest as Mrs. Weasley continued to hug him. She finally let go of him and went to hug Hermione. Ginny came over to him and slid under his arm. Harry smiled and squeezed her shoulder, and Ron moved over to stand next to Hermione.

"_Now_ what?" George said, after a few moments. Other people coming off the train were smiling and waving at the veritable crowd of red-headed people hugging each other.

"Now," Mr. Weasley said, "we can all get back to the business of living again. It's seemed like a long, weary time since anyone's been able to do that."

"How about a party?" Ron suggested. Everyone looked at him. "Well, you know," he said, looking around. "We do have some things to celebrate, don't we?"

"Like our family being together again," Mrs. Weasley said, her arm around Percy.

"And all of our families being safe now," Bill put in.

"And to remember those who aren't with us any more," Hermione said.

"And those who are," Fred added. "I guess it just seems like a good time to say, 'And they lived happily ever after,' for some reason. Dunno why, really."

Harry laughed, as did everyone else standing there. It _was_ a good time, he thought. Until the next adventure began, all was well.


End file.
